Going Home
by Ragingceliac
Summary: Six months have passed since the defeat of Ultron, and Wanda has yet to find unfettered comfort in the team. Natasha believes that she's made peace with the fact that Avengers are her family, first and foremost. Peter Parker is reaching the end of his rope. All the while, an new enemy has risen, and he's willing to play all the pieces on the board if it means the Avengers fall. AU
1. Chapter 1

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* * *

_You can't know up till you've been down_

_ You can't take off tied to the ground_

_ You can't live days scared of the night_

_ And if it's dark don't mean there's no light_

_ But in the silence, we can make a sound_

_ Everyone wants_

_ Everyone needs_

_ And we want something to believe_

_ When we get close, everyone knows_

_ Feels like we're going home_

"Going Home", by _The Score_

* * *

**Wanda stumbled, **almost tripping over her own feet, completely breathless even as her mind lit up with panic from stopping herself from falling over. Her hair was tied back, and over the past forty five minutes, she'd made several small, darkened circles on the training mat. Her feet were very sore, despite the expensive athletic tape she was wearing. She'd gone through a bottle and a half of water yet was still sweating profusely, and exhaustion clawed relentlessly at her resolve not to lay down on the mat and take a small ten hour nap.

However, it was undeniable that she felt happy. Not overjoyed, nor overcome with emotion - simply _happy._ Such a basic English word, but it fit how Wanda felt very well.

A foot came hurtling toward her face, and Wanda ducked. She would've made a grab for the offending leg, but she chose to wait; Wanda wasn't immediately aggressive by nature before she volunteered Strucker's experiments, for one, and she had never been the strongest or fastest of the pack before or afterward. Wanda knew her strength lay in analyzing her opponent's style, then striking low and hard at their blindspots. Thusly, she avoided each attack that Natasha threw at her, making sure to move in a broadly circular fashion so she wouldn't literally hit a wall.

Wanda took care to ensure that she never let Natasha get close, while also staying at just the right distance to ensure that contact wasn't out of the question. She kept her movements as economical as she could, but her chest was still burning and her muscles still groaned under the strain. Nonetheless Wanda continued to hold off on giving a true attack; she exchanged her own punches and kicks with Natasha's, but made sure they were always something she could get out of if need be.

The chink in Natasha's armor showed itself when Wanda was halfway through a step backward and Natasha had just finished a roundkick. Wanda took the opportunity and spun on the ball of her foot as Natasha began to match her retreat backward, landing a solid kick to her instructor's face.

Wanda's eyes shot wide, and in her distraction she lost balance, falling flat on her back. Scrambling to her feet, she saw that Natasha had already recovered, with a hand on the section of her jaw that Wanda had managed to connect with.

"I'm so sorry!" Wanda sputtered, utterly mortified and simultaneously a bit satisfied that she managed to get in a hit like that. Natasha looked at her with her ever-piercing stare, which contained just a bit of humor.

"Don't stress about it," Natasha said, walking over to a bench and retrieving their water, "I don't want you to do that again, but you did well."

Wanda accepted her bottle of water from Natasha, something she knew she never wanted to see the price tag of, and only drank after waiting a moment to gauge Natasha's reaction. When she felt confident enough, she downed a good fourth of it, sighing once she was done, inadvertendly catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror; her face was red as a tomato, and beads of sweat slowly cascaded down her and onto the floor with sluggish abandon.

"I'd watch the angle of your feet," Natasha said, "but other than that, you're improving."

Wanda nodded in response, thrumming her fingers against her bottle awkwardly. "Can I ask you something?"

Natasha inclined her own head slowly, taking in the way Wanda's lip was threatened by her teeth, and the rigidity of her posture. "Uh-huh. You can talk to any of us, Wanda."

"Right," the young woman said, breathing out, "I was just wondering - we _are _certain Hydra has been dealt with, correct?"

Natasha placed a hand on Wanda's shoulder after a short space of contemplation. "Right now, yes. The operation run by Strucker was the last functional base Hydra had. As far as we know, they're gone."

Wanda nodded again. "Right. Obviously. I just - I worry, sometimes, that there are more agents alive, ready to hurt people."

Natasha gave her shoulder a sympathetic half-squeeze. "Wanda…" the Blakc Widow paused for a moment to consider her words, "I know that since Clint retired you've had trouble. That's alright. And I know what happened up there was life-changing, but trust me, we all want you here - Clint saw something in you, and you've proven what he saw. Your place is just as secure as Steve's or Tony's."

Wanda took that in with a small, thin smile. "Thank you."

Nat removed her hand from her shoulder, "Anytime. Now, we'll stretch and that's it for today."

Wanda's smile solidified just a bit more. "Alright."

* * *

"Stark, don't. You. Dare." Sam grit out. "I'm serious."

"You mean you don't want to change your moniker to Birdman?" Tony asked, face twitching.

"How many times have we been over this? Five? Ten?" Sam turned to Steve, "Help me out here man!"

Steve looked up from the kitchen counter, where three apples remained upright despite being cut in half. Natasha leaned back on the couch, watching the exchange with an expression fighting to be serene.

Or, as she knew she should call it for the sake of her mental health, progress.

The lining room/kitchen was quiet; everyone was gathered for dinner, something Steve tried to make sure happened at least once each week. Natasha had it on good security camera footage that Sam unintentionally gave Steve the idea, but Sam - usually upon Stark's teasing - denied it profusely. Either way, once Captain America announced that all the Avengers would all share at least one dinner a week with all of them present, the bemusing gesture was inarguable.

Natasha hardly minded it. She enjoyed very much in reality; even if some days she wasn't very talkative, Sam and Tony almost always maintained a snippy rapport and, much to her cautious acceptance, Natasha found the dinners were soothing. However, she'd had an eye on her affection for the rest of the team since the Battle of New York, and that eye wasn't going to waver any time soon.

What was more important at the moment (Or what she chose to direct most of her focus too), was that Steve's lips began to curl up. "I dunno, Sam. Those wings are beautifully constructed."

Sam groaned, "Steve."

To Natasha's surprise, Steve's grin got a bit wider. "Yes?"

Sam rubbed his eyes. "You're dead to me."

"Then you're gonna need a big freezer," Tony said, striding into the kitchen and throwing the fridge door open. Steve took another moment before he began cutting his apples again, while Tony peered intently into the fridge. "Speaking of which, do we have any actual food?"

"Nope." Rhodey said dryly. "We ran out of Hot Pockets yesterday."

Tony sighed heavily, "Alright, who's feeling burgers? I think burgers will be great."

Natasha threw her gaze toward Vision and Wanda, who had taken out a chess board and started playing ten minutes and thirty seconds ago. Wanda's hands were knit together under her chin as she clinically observed the board before looking vision straight in the eye as she moved her knight.

"Check." she said coolly.

Vision switched the places of his king and his rook. "I believe you ought to flee, Wanda. My Queen is on space away."

Wanda's brow furrowed as she reluctantly moved her knight to safety.

Natasha turned her eyes back to the kitchen before Wanda could notice her attention, met with the sight of Tony defensively hugging a box of burgers to his chest. "Steve, I paid billions for this facility. I am not eating leftovers. Ever."

"Tony, we have leftovers." Steve responded firmly, "We should use them. Just because we have the ability to eat out every night doesn't mean we should."

Tony stayed stock still, meeting Cap's gaze with steel. "Steve, I'm in my forties, I'm not old yet."

Steve rubbed his forehead. "Tony."

"Steve."

"_Tony._"

"_Steve._"

"We could do half and half," Natasha chipped in, rising from her seat. "That would solve both problems, right? Use the vegetables from Wednesday, and order something else."

Tony and Steve's bickering heads turned to her, and after a moment, Steve nodded. Tony's eyes darted regretfully to his burgers, before he slowly nodded as well.

Tony began, "We're ordering-"

Steve cut in, "-Pad Thai. That sounds good, right?"

Tony looked somewhat argumentative for a moment, before he smiled ever so slightly. "You know, Rhodey outranks you, Cap. He could shoot this down."

The room's collective eye went to Rhodes, who stared Tony directly in the face as he said, "I agree with the Captain on this one."

"Hey Sam, you wanna help me out? We're both being betrayed by our friends today."

"Oh, shut up."

Wanda laughed, which made Sam chuckle, and Steve huff quietly, his grin returning a bit.

As Tony took everyone's order, Natasha nudged Steve, who'd relocated to the counter to devour his apples. "This isn't your first time having Thai, is it?"

Steve hesitated for a second, serving as all the catalyst Nat needed to snort. Steve said, "The list is down to one item, Natasha."

Natasha got a glass of water. "And that final item would be?"

"Star Trek."

Natasha shook her head, glancing around for Iron Man, who had disappeared, presumably to place the order. And if he wasn't, well, Pepper was a call away. "Tony'll kill you for that, y'know."

Steve smiled, finishing the last apple and scraping the contents of the cutting board into the trash. "Yeah."

Natasha had to find a different seat after finishing her glass of water, because Sam was lounging in it all too smugly. Rolling her eyes, Nat sat down next to Wanda, focusing on the calm warmth in her chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Boredom was **the world's greatest evil, Peter decided.

Of course, he knew he was a special case, but that hardly aided his utter ambivalence on _Moby Dick. _The teacher was breaking down a paragraph for its thematic significance as an example for their homework, but honestly, Peter couldn't care less. He had Sparknotes for that and, frankly, Peter didn't much care about school at all.

Okay, hold on.

Peter _did _care about school; he understood what a quality education would do for his future, and he didn't underestimate its importance by any stretch. He enjoyed much of school; seeing Ned five days a week, even with a graded anvil hanging over their heads, was something he appreciated, because summers could get pretty lonely if Ned was off on a trip. Peter also found the sciences a general breeze, which meant he was able to (generally) ace them, and get in good with his teacher. Sometimes they were jerks, but that had only been one year in sixth grade, and Peter had discovered his inclination for photography that year, so it all worked out in the end.

However, in recent days, Peter found himself… distracted.

Superpowers seemed wholly awesome for like, the first five minutes. Of course, Peter only felt elation over them after several mishaps, including the absolutely wonderful time he bumped into a woman on the street and couldn't get his shoulder unstuck from hers for a solid thirty seconds - all in broad daylight. That little incident also revealed some of his super strength's (super muscles'?) extent, when he literally crossed the entirety of the metro station in five minutes. Needless to say, his superpowers sometimes got in the way of things, even now, when he had some idea of what the heck was going on with him.

But with the powers came new worries. What if someone found out about them? What if the government found out about them? If he revealed his abilities, would the avengers come after him? All he'd need is one bad series of events and bam, Iron Man could be gunning for him - in the bad way. Peter had realized, too, that he could become the target of supervillains if one of them found out. Now, it wasn't like he hadn't had fantasies of getting rescued by the Avengers, especially when he was younger, but the whole Stark Expo Iron-Man-Saved-Me-From-A-Killer-Robot-Thing had stopped most of them. Even further, Peter was terrified of hurting people. He could almost punch through a three-inch thick brick wall, let alone a skull, and if he ever lost his cool…

Peter shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Nope. Not going there. His nightmares were plenty disturbing enough, thank you very much.

_Stay awake, Parker. Stay awake. _

Peter slid a piece of loose leaf out from under his worksheet, and on a whim copied down the chemical equation for his web fluid. It was surprisingly simple, Peter found, and in the sixth months since he'd gotten his powers, it had been very reliable. But most anything could be improved if you simply worked at it enough, so he copied it down the balanced equation and started to mix and match quantities of the ingredients to calculate the results. It wasn't exactly the scientific method, but considering the circumstances, it could, hypothetically, result in something useful.

It wouldn't, of course, but that was no matter of importance.

When the bell rang (finally), Peter stuffed his copy of _Moby Dick, _his homework, and totally useful permutations of his web formula into his bag. It had been neatly organized once, he reflected. Before that field trip to Oscorp last April, each subject had its own folder and color-coded indicator of his current grade (Green for an A or higher, Yellow for a B, and red for a C or lower), all in one binder. Alright, he was sorta proud of that set-up, he'd admit. Yet as he looked down at the mass of papers and folders all smushed together in his bag, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of loss.

Peter dismissed that feeling as well, shaking his head and making a beeline for the cafeteria. He joined the line bouncing on his toes slightly, thinking of how hungry he'd gotten recently. One side effect of having super strength was that all his muscle need lots of food to keep him from starving; he'd lost five pounds in the initial four weeks after he got his powers, and the hungfusion (hunger and confusion - clever, right? Right?) he'd felt in that time was another item added to his list of things not to think about. They were having pizza today, which made Peter smile a bit.

"Excited, huh?" the girl behind him asked. Peter's head spun toward her, and his cheeks immediately began to pink, because she was gorgeous: black hair that went just a bit past her shoulders, brown eyes that he could probably fit his apartment complex into and still get lost in, and a great-

Smile. A welcoming, bright smile that accentuated everything else about her. Her-

_No, nononono. We are _not _going there. _

Peter coughed into his fist awardly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Uhm, yeah. I really like pizza."

The girl didn't respond for an agonizing second, before she let out a short huff of amusement. "Yeah, me too. I think they want you to move up now, though."

Peter looked back toward the lunch ladies, who were indeed giving him expectant looks. He rushed forward, tripping over his feet, forced to cartwheel his arms like an idiot for a bit to regain his balance. He breathed out when he did, hearing the girl behind him (She suddenly seemed really tall from this distance, was that weird?) giggle. It was good natured, though. And even if it wasn't, it was the first time a girl his age had laughed at something he'd done, so he took it.

Peter accepted his pizza and rushed over to his table, glancing over his shoulder at the girl again, a look that wasn't reciprocated, but an action that left his heart fluttering nonetheless.

_Oh no. _

Peter did his utmost to get his heart still as he sat down next to Ned, managing to fail fantastically. His cheeks were feeling hotter with each step, and part of him was positively certain that everyone knew about the blossoming, irrational affection for that girl. He didn't even know her name and yet some small section of him was holding on to her giggle and her smile.

Thusly, Peter tried to quash his emotions as he sat down, setting his jaw stiffly and running a hand through his hair. Ned's eyes darted from Peter's own to his best friend's pinked cheeks, stiff posture, and obviously forced neutral expression. Ned grinned at him. Peter's hand moved to adjust his glasses, and was met with air. He redirected it to his personal pizza, biting into half of it hastily.

"I saw you talking to a girl," Ned said innocently, his grin widening as Peter's stoic face collapsed in totality, "Did you ask her out?"

It took Peter a full fifteen seconds to extricate his teeth from his scalding hot pizza. He shook his head furiously once he had, narrowing his eyes. "Ned!" Peter hissed, "I'm not like that!"

Ned nodded. "I know, but do you know who that girl was?"

Peter frowned at Ned, taking a small sip from his milk carton. "No?"

Ned gasped. "Dude! That was Liz Allen!"

Peter tilted his head. "Liz Allen?"

Ned inclined his head enthusiastically. "Yeah! She's a junior, head of the decathlon team, and really, really popular."

The part about the decathlon team vaguely tapped a bell for Peter. He recalled talking to a tall, pretty girl who very well could've been Liz when he submitted his application to the team at the beginning of the year. He'd purposefully made himself look bad, emphasizing his weaknesses and his failures, with a weak "But I'm willing to work hard" to round it out. Peter had mostly forgotten about it - and completely forgotten about Liz - half because he had biggery, more spidery things to occupy his time and that May had taken him out for Pad Thai that night as consolation, which made Peter internally cringe at himself.

"Dude? You there?"

Peter blinked, snapping his head over to Ned. "Oh! Um, yeah. I'm fine. Just tired, I guess."

"You're tired a lot lately," Ned said, brows knitted together, "You know, if there's still som-"

"-There isn't." Peter cut him off, a tad more blunt than he wanted to sound (or expected to sound). Peter gave Ned a smile. "I'm fine, really. Staying up too late, I guess."

_That's not a total lie, at least._

Ned hesitated for a moment, before slowly nodding. "Okay."

"Okay?"

Ned smiled. "Yeah. Okay."

Peter felt relief flood him, quickly joined by mild perturbation that he was feeling relieved over something as petty as this. It was ridiculous: Ned was only concerned for him. And it wasn't as if he wouldn't have reason not to be, per se, Peter supposed. He also supposed the fact that "this" was actually his secret alter-ego as Queens' Guardian Angel… spider… thing - so that concern could be dangerous. One slip-up on his part or Ned getting seriously concerned could blow his whole life into chaos, not counting what could happen to his family in the future. _Okay, _Peter thought, _this isn't weird. This is necessary. No-one can know. Not even May. It's for their safety. Ned's concerned so that means more coffee in the morning I guess. It'll be fine, Peter. _

Everything was normal. Everything was fine.


	3. Chapter 3

** As usual, **Wanda felt out of place.

The feeling was never intense; Wanda had learned the hard way what could happen if she lost control of her emotions, and while she'd gotten a firm grasp of them, she never truly understood what it meant not to feel. Unlike Natasha (who very well could have been faking it, Wanda reminded herself), her cool disposition felt excruciatingly fragile. The mask had turned from form-fitting to stuffy, as her emotions grew and stretched it farther and farther with each passing day. More and more often she was faced with twitches of her mouth at Sam's comments, or Natasha's calculated - yet somehow friendly - digs at Stark when the man got too quippy (Which was the majority of the time). Vision was… Vision, still counter-intuitively very familiar with the chemistry of emotions and thus utterly unprepared when he actually began to feel them. Steve would try his utmost to relate to her and help her relax, something that she appreciated greatly, however she still felt distinct from everyone on the team, even half a year after Sokovia.

The sensation had truly begun years before, after the shell. Alongside the nightmares, psychological issues, and the difficulties of growing up on the streets, came a more insidious, pulsing feeling of otherness. Looking back, and with the psychological aid provided by Stark, Wanda lamented how angry she'd been, and how it had mixed with her lack of direction. The anger became a fixture of her life in just a few months, a daily thought pattern that morphed into a daily undercurrent in her mind, biting at her morals. She had to stay alive for her parents' sake. She had to stay alive to keep Pietro safe. She had to survive at any cost to get her family's killers put to justice, because the world sure as hell wasn't going to do it for her. She had to work with Strucker because it was the only way to make something of herself, to complete her quest for justice and finally be done with her anger (or so she had convinced herself). It didn't matter if people looked at her like she was cattle that had better be worth the effort they were putting into raising or else. Nothing had mattered to her except her and Pietro's revenge, and when that was gone, she'd been even more directionless than she had after the shell.

Sam was on the team because it was simply in his nature to help if he could, albeit it had taken much to reinvigorate that aspect of him in such an overtly militant way. Vision had to stay because he truly desired it and he'd be ostracized if he attempted to join the general population in his current state. Natasha had guilt driving her, but she appeared to have gained a purpose from the team as well. Steve was in for the same reason as Sam.

And Wanda?

She considered that a very good question, because she honestly didn't have an answer.

* * *

Steve called a meeting at midday, interrupting Wanda's lunch, which she promptly wrapped in cellophane and shoved into the fridge. The leftover pad thai was still serviceable, she supposed, even if the noodles had become shockingly stiff overnight. They wouldn't probably wouldn't be helped by a second reheating, but Wanda wasn't overly concerned about it.

Her perception of the halls had a habit of fluctuating; they were either long, dreadful experiences that took a lifetime to cross after her training sessions, or far too short when she was headed toward the gym for those same training sessions. The halls all had the same pristine look to them, too, which had turned the compound into a heavily polished labyrinth during her early days moving in. There was another reason her perception of the hallways changed, but she forced that thought down with all her mental strength.

Steve was standing in the conference room they'd chosen with his arms crossed, at the head of the table, frowning at a holographic display of what Wanda assumed was going to be their target. The fluorescent blue model showed a large abandoned factory, chimneys and all, with a narrow, winding set of tunnels extending underneath it from a room deep within the facility. It was moments such as these where Wanda appreciated the fact that her powers weren't necessarily suited to close quarters.

Stark was tapping away at his phone in the seat next Steve's, leaned back unceremoniously, his face a neutral that Wanda saw through like a knife through hot butter. Natasha sat across from Stark, studying the holographic display with Steve, giving Wanda a small nod as she entered the room. Rhodey was nowhere to be found, but his appearances at the compound had always been more scattered than anyone else's at the compound; he was the military attaché to Stark Industries, after all, and his life was on the more complex side. Vision was missing, too, as was Wilson.

Steve looked toward Wanda as she made to sit, two seats down from Natasha. "Hey, Wanda. How are you?"

Always with the concern. It was possibly the oddest thing Wanda had yet encountered. "Fine."

Steve offered a small, slightly sardonic smile. "Good. I hope I wasn't interrupting anything, but we only just got this intel."

"No thanks to me, of course," Stark said.

Wanda got herself comfortable, regretting her choice of seating when the sun began to aggressively shine through the windows. It was November, but the sky had been unexpectedly clear today. She moved one seat over to escape it, to the point that she sat at the table's edge.

Wanda was contemplating whether or not she'd manage to practice with her guitar later when the door to the conference room swung open and Wilson entered. His smile disappeared almost immediately, settling into a neutral line. He sat down across from Wanda, nodding to her as he sat down.

"Is this everyone?" he asked.

Steve inclined his head. "Yeah. Rhodey's doing a rescue operation and Vision was having a minor malfunction, so we'll be it for this mission."

Wanda frowned. "Vision had a malfunction?"

"That's how he described it," Steve shot Stark a pointed look, "I'm sure he'll be fine, Wanda."

"Alright." Wanda replied. She could feel Natasha's steady eyes on her as she relaxed her shoulders somewhat, which she met after a bit of hesitation.

Vision was a gray area for her. She couldn't properly read him, not like the others. He was calm and collected no matter what the situation, and he had a lukewarm presence that Wanda was helplessly intrigued by. He was a walking contradiction of values that still functioned seamlessly, a quiet exemplary that kept drawing Wanda's attention whenever he entered the room. She decided that she was definitely going to visit him later if she could.

"Tony." Steve said, a bit clipped. "We're starting."

Stark finally stopped focusing on his phone, sliding it into his pocket with a dry, "There's only one person here who's my type, and that's you, Cap."

Steve ignored Stark's comment. "So," he said, pointing at the hologram, "We've found a safehouse for Rumlow's people. It's an old SHIELD bunker in New York State, about ten klicks from here, with an entrance hidden in this factory. Rumlow was there a week ago according to FRIDAY, so we can expect it to be active." Steve pointed at the door leading to the tunnels, and the wall turned red. "This is our goal to get to the tunnels, but we can expect the entire thing to be booby-trapped, so we're taking this carefully. Natasha will hit them first from the south side, and when she's cleared the guards at the entrance, the rest of us will come in. Once we get into the bunker, we'll stay as quiet as we can. If we have to go loud-"

"'If'," Sam cut in amusedly, "If."

Steve shook his head. "If we have to go loud, we're staying together. Ideally all four of us, but if that doesn't work, stay with a partner whenever possible."

"There's five of us." Wanda said, raising an eyebrow.

"Tony will give us support from the air." Natasha explained, "He's getting involved as a last resort."

"You know, Romanoff, it's okay to admit you're all jealous of my suits." Stark said.

"I ain't jealous of one of those," Sam said, "they're like being in an armored sardine tin."

"You're wearing a metal backpack," Stark responded. "Those wings will get stuck on the walls."

Sam chuckled. "You suit'd make the walls collapse. Besides, I have Red Wing."

"Alright," Steve raised a hand as Stark opened his mouth, "We move out at 4 AM, so get your rest. Any questions?"

Steve peered around the room, his face the epitome of patience. When he got no responses, he nodded. Not a moment after he did, Stark said, "I made Red Wing."

"Yeah, and you gave him more taste than you have, 'cause he loves me."

Stark shook his head exasperatedly. "How'd Stevie even become friends with you?"

"I dunno," Sam said, "why do you prefer me over Tony?"

Steve sighed, reminding Wanda of a parent, a thought that was funny for about five seconds. "I never said that, Sam."

Stark said, "Too late. My heart's been broken, Cap. I blame you."

Wanda ignored her dark thoughts as best as she could to add, "I never trust Men with a face like that. There's always a catch."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, what she said."

Steve snorted. "If anything comes up, let me know."

"Oh, I will," Tony said, "Loudly and with a flood of emotion."

Wanda felt herself begin to smile as everyone filtered out. Natasha hung back to put a hand on her shoulder, saying, "Vision's fine."

Wanda made herself complete the smile. "Thanks."

Natasha left without another word, leaving Wanda alone in the conference room, bathed in sunlight. Her seat was comfortable, and the room felt unavoidably fabricated.

* * *

**Hey, there! It's the (torturer) author! How're you guys doing? I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'm really appreciative of the response this story has gotten. That said, I willfully admit to fast tracking some of Vision's development - I also don't read the comics, so if any of this seems reminiscent of some storyline you've read before, I promise it's a coincidence. Anyways, I hope you guys are enjoying everything so far! Any and all likes/favs/reviews would make my day. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac**


	4. Chapter 4

**Peter breathed **a sigh of relief when the bell rang. He almost groaned out a "finally", but he kept that urge down.

Sixth and seventh period had been alright, all things considered. Engineering was stimulating enough, even if CAD modeling was a bit simplistic at times, and his world history class was covering the Greeks, so those two could've been far worse. eighth period, however, revealed its true colours when, after situating himself comfortably on a stool, Liz Allen sat down right across from him.

The hour and a half between lunch and eighth period hadn't decreased her looks at all. Peter's heart had climbed a good ten beats per minutes only thirty seconds after Liz sat down, and he struggled with a growing blush for another fifty seconds before giving up and pressing his face firmly onto the table.

"Are you okay?" Liz asked him. Peter stayed quiet for a few more moments, silently preparing himself for whatever stupid thing he knew he'd say, and raised his head up as if he were looking at his executioner.

Liz appeared bemused and a bit concerned, and a bit of something else that Peter couldn't identify, which his brain translated as _say something you numbskull!_

Peter heard himself laugh nervously, "O-oh! Yeah, I-I'm f-fine. J-just tired, is all. AP world sucks."

Liz shrugged, taking out a notebook from her bag, and a box of crayola coloured pencils. "I don't mind it that much," she tucked an errant strand of hair out of the way as she took out a red coloured pencil, fiddling with it for a moment, a span where Peter realized her nails were painted a radiant shade of crimson that he most definitely didn't find nice. No. Nope. That'd be creepy, and kinda weird. "My main problem is the amount of notes, though, y'know? It's like, an hour a night."

Peter blinked. He most definitely wasn't fighting the part of him that demanded he look at… those things. Absolutely not. "Oh. Uh, yeah. Notes. They suck."

Liz peered at him for another moment. Peter hoped his face wasn't that red. Was it? Dear god, let it not be. Although… no, that pimple smack dab in the middle of his nose was a white head, so there wasn't an upside here. Had he shaved this morning? Did Liz notice the hair on his arms? He was just in a t-shirt (a baggy one, to make sure no-one noticed his super muscles), but had something changed? Wait, no! Parker, _think- _

"Have I met you before?"

Peter frowned, half-grateful for the confusion cutting into his line of thought. "I mean, we met at lunch-"

"No, I don't mean that." Liz scrutinized him again. "I feel like I met you before. Your voice sounds familiar…"

Peter's heart began hammering, for all the wrong reasons.

There wasn't any way she could know, could she? Peter hadn't given any indication that he was spider-man, right? Like, sure, he'd spoken in that one phone video that got uploaded to youtube, but that video was really bad - the audio especially. Still, he knew staying silent wouldn't help him (unless he should stop talking to not let her hear his voice more, but he'd like to think he remembered everyone he saved).

"Uh, I think I gave you my application for decathlon." Peter said, forcing a smile.

Liz was quiet for a moment, before she nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I remember you now!"

_Oh thank god. _

Betty Brant joined them shortly after his and Liz's conversation drifted into a nearly comfortable silence, and Peter was immensely grateful that she knew Liz so well. By the end of the period, he was entirely confident that the world could erupt in nuclear fire and they'd still be able to strike up conversation, nuclear winter be damned.

Peter darted out of the room as soon as he got up, eager to get away from the stresses of school and, if he was entirely honest, Liz.

He knew he was being the epitome of an overdramatic teenager, developing a crush on a girl in one day, but Peter was wary of his feelings. Getting any kind of romantic idea in his head right now was probably a bad idea. Firstly, while he could reveal that he was spider-man to her, he knew in his heart that he wouldn't unless he had no other option: he enjoyed the distance between Peter Parker and Spider-man. Secondly, cliche as it sounded, he knew that if someone found out they were dating (assuming she'd ever be into him at all, an outcome he placed somewhere between breathing in space and walking on water), they might target her, and it'd be on him if she got hurt. It took two to tango, after all. And thirdly, Peter was also painfully aware that high school relationships trended toward the short-term, and a broken heart plus a super-powered teenager? If someone got hurt, it'd be on him once again. Peter refused to let that happen. He couldn't. He'd made his choice when he decided to devote three weeks of his life to constructing a super-suit out of stuff he'd bought from thrift shops and old computers from dumpsters: he was Spider-Man. If Peter Parker suffered because of that…

Peter dispelled his thoughts as best he could, pushing open the door to Delmar's, plastering a smile on his face.

* * *

"Y'know, stealing is like, kinda a bad thing!" Peter shouted at the robber, a guy in a bulky trench coat armed in one hand with a small caliber pistol and with a plastic shopping bag stuffed full of bills. The man was high-tailing it down the street as the convenience store owner he'd robbed chased him.

There was no way the shop owner would catch the robber. The robber had too much of a headstart on him, for one, and appeared to be about twenty years younger than his assailant. Alone, he'd have to take the loss in cash and make do.

_But he isn't, _Peter thought, a small bit of pride rising in his chest as he stuck a web to an apartment complex and swung after the robber. _Cause I'm here. Friendly neighborhood Spider-man!_

"Oh my god! He's real!"

"Get that man!"

"Get him, Spider-man!"

Peter heard the voices of the people below him (about ten to fifteen feet, to be exact), feeling his face heat up a bit behind his mask. He attached another web to the side of another building, reminding himself that he needed to stay focused. His job required focus. If he wasn't focused someone could get hurt. And Spider-man wouldn't let that happen.

Peter swung around the side of the building he'd webbed, launching himself through the air at a breakneck speed, flipping as he did, landing in front of the robber in a crouch. He leaned a bit too much on his right foot, and he felt it, but Spider-man ignored it.

"Hey!" he said to the dumbfounded guy, who gawked at him. "Stealing is bad! What would your mom think if she saw you like this?"

The robber snapped back to reality just as pulled back his arm to punch him. The man was halfway through a snarl when Peter's fist rammed into his nose. Peter heard a crunch that made him cringe slightly, and the would-be hundredaire crumpled to the ground. Peter knelt down beside the robber, putting two fingers to the artery in the man's neck. For a second, a part of him panicked.

Then Peter felt a pulse. He stood up and found himself face-to-face with the convenience store owner, who had his hands on his knees. The man caught his breath for a moment before giving Peter a wide smile. "Thank you! If he'd gotten that money-"

Peter laughed nervously, uncomfortable at the collective stare of the crowd that had materialized around them. He waved his hand in a way he hoped wouldn't be seen as rude. "Don't worry. It's all part of the job, sir."

The store owner tied the robber's plastic bag shut and held it close to his chest as he nodded. "Right, right. Of course!" the man took another deep breath, "I'll call the police. Thank you, Spider-man."

Peter couldn't stop a grin from forming behind his mask. "No problem, sir."

He turned, ready to web-sling away, however he noticed that several members of the crowd had their phones out - pointed at him. Peter was frozen for a second, turned toward the building next to him when he felt something wrap around his leg.

The something turned out to be a toddler who barely went up to his knees. Peter blinked before he laughed, gently prying the boy off of his leg. Barely a second later, a very frazzled-looking woman broke through the crowd, scooping up the boy in her arms, sighing. "Alex!"

"But mama, Thipder-man!" The toddler stuck his finger out toward Peter, and the woman looked the teenager up and down for a moment, wide-eyed.

"I thought you were a hoax." she said. Peter almost winced at that, only just holding his cringe back. "I didn't think - well, I mean..."

Peter nodded briefly before jumping onto the roof of the building next to him, to Alex's delight. He felt the crowd's eyes on his back like spotlights as he swung away, gathering as much momentum as he could before he threw himself into another flip. Peter landed in a small, shadowed alleyway, next to a dumpster. He let out a breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding.

Peter didn't like attention. Attention normally meant that he'd embarrassed himself somehow, and even aside from all the bad memories he had - he'd never, ever turn his back on a Ned armed with pudding again - attention from more than one person made him uncomfortable. Nervous. Peter was better with calculators and sig figs than people. People were unpredictable. Judgemental.

_They didn't mean anything by it, Parker. Just get ahold of yourself. _

It took another moment for Spider-man to emerge from the alley, and after speeding through five blocks, he considered calling it a night. He still had school tomorrow, and his homework, even if he'd blown through most of it during the downtime he had in Engineering.

Peter was sat on the edge of a run-down apartment complex when he heard it.

"Whaddya mean you can't make it? I swear to god-" a shadowy figure hissed into his phone in the alley below Peter's feet, "You better fuckin' make it, alright? I already got enough my plate."

Peter peered down at the figure, who he guessed was a man from the voice, squinting a little. Cautiously, he slunk onto a fire escape, flattening himself against the wall in a dark corner. If the man saw him from here, it would be totally unfair.

The shadowy figure jumped, before angrily sighing. The man pressed himself against the alley wall, ducking behind a dumpster, scanning his surroundings for a moment. His voice was hushed when he said, "It's my problem? Motherfuck - god - I got kicked off of my other crew for you! And now I won't be able to join anyone else's gang, so you better - _no, eff off, _I can't move the time! If that doesn't work for you, then the guns are as good as gone!"

Peter's eyes widened. Okay. That escalated quickly.

Spider-Man waited until the man put his phone down and ended the call to strike. He stuck the man's feet to the ground as he dropped in front of him. The man yelped.

"Hey dude! Did you know illegal weapons deals are wrong?" Peter asked, whisking the man's phone from his hands. "Woah, an iphone 4? Geez, thar is old-school."

The man struggled against his bonds. "You little shit! Gimme my phone back!"

Peter shrugged blithely as he stepped out of the man's reach, webbing the man to the dumpster by his waist as he grasped for his phone. "I think I'll leave it up to the police. They're trustworthy people."

Even in the darkness, Peter could tell the man was practically frothing at the mouth. He opened his mouth to quip, but the criminal's hand dove into his jacket, withdrawing what looked like a taser, albeit one that glowed purple.

_It's probably not a taser, then, _Peter thought. He sent a web at the offending hand, sticking it to the alley wall. "Why is your taser glowing?"

Peter could hear the man's wolfish grin. "Oh, you'll see."

Spider-Man had barely a moment to react to his webbing being melted through by the strange device before the man had thrust it out toward him. Peter threw himself to the side, dropping the man's phone, dodging a purple energy blast. He scrambled up the wall as the man laughed.

Peter could feel the heat from each blast, utterly dumbfounded as they consistently cut three-inch deep gashes into the brick of the alley. He threw himself onto the other wall when he reached the roof of the rundown apartment building, sticking a web onto the man's shooting arm. He jumped down hard and fast, causing the man's shoulder to give a sickeningly loud _pop!_

The man cried out and clutched his shoulder. Peter gasped, rushing over to him.

"Oh god! You okay dude? I didn't like, dislocate anything did I?" Peter was within an arm's length of the man when, with a growl, he pulled his arm back and hit Spider-man hard in the jaw with a right hook.

So the shoulder was working. Good to know.

Peter jumped back and stuck to the alley wall, his vision blurring slightly with the water rising in his eyes. He grabbed the guy's weapon with a bit of web, as people stuck their heads out of their apartment windows. Said heads promptly dove back inside their apartments when they realized what was happening. Peter heard some people dial 911, others scream in terror.

_No distractions, Parker. _

Peter webbed the man up, realizing that he'd most definitely have to make more web fluid tomorrow, but not caring very much. He heard police sirens in the distance, and in a snap-judgement, decided to collect the man's iphone too before jumping out of the alley and swinging away.

As he swung, garnering more stares from the pedestrians that he passed over, he felt a bit of dread sprout in his stomach. Energy weapons in the hands of criminals? Peter thought that stuff was limited to science fiction. Like, sure, Iron Man had that kinda stuff, but those weren't true lasers. Not like like _Star Trek _or _Star Wars_. No, the energy was more…

_Oh, man. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Wanda found **vision sitting cross-legged in his quarters, facing toward the wall.

It was an odd sight. At least, a sect of Wanda said that it should be: an artificial intelligence had been combined with a rock that could level an entire city and that _hadn't _been a complete and utter catastrophe. The result of said combination was not only sentient, but it could also fly, fire a laser out of the very thing giving it sentience, and phase through walls - and unlike her, it hadn't turned evil, or had to right its moral compass whatsoever. Vision, for all his literal artificiality and detached nature, knew right from wrong - no end justified the means, people were worth saving.

Wanda frowned for a moment before clearing her throat, "Hey, Vis."

Vision turned to face her slowly, stretching out his neck and shoulders, to Wanda's shock. He looked at her - red vibranium body and all - with a neutral that teetered on softness. "Hello, Wanda."

"You stretched." Wanda said, cocking her head slightly. "Why?"

Vision was quiet for a space, unnerving Wanda further. When he did finally speak (after moving over to the window), there was an undercurrent of uncertain curiosity in his voice. "I experienced pain yesterday."

Wanda blinked. "Oh."

"Yes," Vision said, "I suppose that would be an appropriate response."

Wanda took a cautious step toward him. "I don't really know what to say. You were hurt for the first time yesterday."

Vision gave a small, contemplative nod. "I was trying to make toast. My right index finger brushed the inside of the toaster oven."

Some part of Wanda wanted to find that story amusing, however the punchline was the worrying part. "Was this a test?"

_Or an accident?_

Vision held her gaze, however there was a note of hesitation in his eyes, exceedingly light, but very much there. "No."

Wanda took a moment to consider her actions, before taking another step toward vision. "You don't do accidents."

"I shouldn't, yes."

"Then why do you think this happened?" Wanda asked, sincerely hoping she came off lighter than her current mood felt. Vision frowned, his brow creased, golden eyes pensive.  
"The mind stone," he began, pointing to it, "It… is unique. Its properties are comprehendable, but still very complex. I believe this… accident, is a result of my creation."

Wanda crossed her arms, concerned and yet, to her guilt, very curious. "What do you mean? You lifted Thor's hammer minutes after you were born."

Vision placed his hand over the mind stone, taking a small step back. "There is no randomness in a computer. Each action has a distinct logic to it that can be traced. Perceived erraticism is really the result of logic, no matter how flawed."

"So you think the mind stone is interfering with the other half of you?" Wanda guessed.

"Perhaps," Vision said, "However, it feels more as if the two are beginning to merge."

Wanda's arms tensed a bit. "What do you mean by that? One is an AI and the other-"

"-is an infinity stone, yes," Vision acknowledged. "I apologize for interrupting, but what I'm attempting to explain is proving difficult. It is proving difficult to focus."

Wanda shook her head. "It's fine, Vis. Are you alright?"

"It seems to me that the mindstone and JARVIS are integrating, for lack of a better word."

Wanda's eyes widened a fraction. "That's… good?"

Vision took a step toward her, trying for a comforting expression. "Time will tell, Wanda."

They held each other's eyes for a moment, before Wanda took the plunge and fully stepped into Vision's space, reaching for his hand. "Whatever happens, Vis, I'm here for you."

For the first time, the edges of Vision's lips curved the tiniest amount upward. "Thank you, Wanda."

* * *

The first stage of the attack went well. The outside sentries were dispatched with no incident, and Wanda was able to enjoy the relative peace of the early morning - if she ignored the unconscious HYDRA guards, that is.

There was a slight sway in the trees, a low whistle that made the hairs on the back of Wanda's stand at attention. The sky was overcast, yet Wanda could just make out the rising sun through the thick of the woods. The grass around them had dead patches, leftovers from the summer heat, dotting the landscape like leopard spots.

She brushed some hair out of her face, moving brusquely behind Steve. Sam landed behind her with a roll, and she felt his eyes on her back. "You alright, Scarlet Witch?"

Wanda threw a glance over her shoulder. "Fine."

Sam caught up with her only a second later. "Okay, but if you're worried about Vizzy, he'll be fine. Guy's tough. Vibranium tough."

Wanda inhaled sharply out of her nose. "Thanks, Samuel."

She could feel Sam's eyes widen behind his goggles. "Hey! No-one uses the full name. It's off limits."

Wanda began to levitate, shrugging, "Some laws are made to be broken, Bird."

Sam had most definitely opened his mouth to retort - for some reason, he got very touchy when his wings were referred to by any non-falcon-related term. Steve broke in, however, "Eyes up. Stay together if we can. Tony, can you hear us?"

_"Too loud and too clear at this hour, Cap. I have a circadian rhythm too, you know."_

Steve shook his head briefly, before frowning. "Natasha, what's your status?"

A moment of silence passed, where Wanda, Sam, and Steve peered around them, before Natasha dropped down in front of Steve in a crouch. Wanda didn't hear so much as a rustle.

Sam sighed. "I swear, you're gonna give me a heart attack."

"We're lucky Stark took out their cameras and bugs," Natasha said lightly, "Otherwise we'd have goons all over your wings."

Steve put his hand up and flicked his wrist. "That's enough. We have about thirty minutes before the guards are supposed to radio in."

The Avengers entered the bunker in silence. Wanda went through a few meditative breathing exercises as they descended, opening her eyes to the sight of grimy concrete and metal lightbulb fixtures hanging from the ceiling. Steve had his shield out, and Natasha was aiming a pistol over his shoulder. Wanda gave Sam a small nod as they entered the first room.

It was relatively large for a HYDRA facility. There were thin pipes with chipped, faded paint running along the ceiling and walls. The yellow light from the bunker's bulbs made everything just a bit more nauseating to Wanda, and she so she focused on controlling her emotions even farther, diving into her magic until she could feel it in her bones again.

It was always there, the magic. In daily life, its presence was rarely as overt as it was now, however each time she got ready to use it, she felt the spectre of when she'd first used it: the throbbing headache she had and her throat, sore from screaming in pain, eclipsed in less than five seconds by the sheer sensation of power.

She read the mind of the first goon before he could let his friends into their little break-in. They'd taken the only door in the bunker's first room, Steve leading them stoically, Natasha aiming a glock over his shoulder, and Sam with his wings formed into a makeshift shield. A moment after Steve had opened the door, Wanda thrust out her hands, red energy erupting from her fingertips.

She got a brief glimpse into the man's mind before she threw him against the wall so hard that his helmet cracked. She was disappointed by what she tapped into: the man was a nothing, nobody special, and so very lost. She saw his career at SHIELD, where he was hired as a computer technician for Project Insight. He was scatterbrained, fumbling over his words and his work for months before she saw his firing, how he practically face-planted onto his front doorstep, and the freshly-pressed suit of someone who the guard only ever addressed as "Mr. Sitwell". She witnessed him shaking hands with the man and accepting his position at the bunker, downtrodden and uncertain.

Steve ducked under the butt of an assault rifle, kicking its owner hard in their right olique, sending them flying into the wall with a cry of pain. He threw his shield to the left as more soldiers came rushing from a hallway. Wanda threw up a barrier as Natasha rolled after Steve, pulling a second pistol from her belt and even getting in a widow's bite before the barrier was up. Sam rushed in after Wanda his own two pistols out.

Steve's shield was whizzing about the other side of the room at dizzying speeds, forcing the HYDRA soldiers to abandon any pretense of organization in each individual's desperate struggle to avoid it. Wanda exchanged a glance with Steve, where he held up three fingers. Wanda nodded in response.

_Three. _

Natasha was adjusting her widow's bite, and Sam was getting the cricks out of his neck.

_Two. _

Wanda closed her eyes and focused on the sole HYDRA soldier who wasn't panicking.

_One. _

Wanda collapsed the barrier and yanked the HYDRA soldier through the crowd of his comrades, as Steve dove forward into a roll and caught his shield, earning a whistle from Sam, who sent a roundhouse kick to a soldier's visor the next second. Natasha grabbed on of the guards and sent him stumbling into a group of his colleagues, while Wanda's quarry finally reached her.

She felt the guard's calm collapse as she pulled them toward her, yanking off their helmet effortlessly. The eyes that met hers were a cold hazel, which bored into hers with bemusement, despite the raging terror inside their owner's.

Wanda threw the woman back down the hall, right in the path of some reinforcements. Steve, Natasha, and Sam had taken care of the initial force by then.

"That looks like it hurt," Natasha commented, to which Steve huffed quietly, his lips quirking upward a tad.

"Nat, you're on me. Sam, cover us. And Wa-"

He's cut off by a projectile that comes hurtling right for Wanda's heart. She managed to block it, but to her shock, the projectile shattered her barrier. She was thrown back at sickening speed, and her vision swam ahead f her when she hit the wall. Wanda groaned, breathing heavily as Steve threw his shield down the hall. Sam and Nat begin opening fire, but the offending HYDRA soldier dodged Steve's shield by the skin of her teeth, rolling out of danger even has one of Natasha's bullets dug into her calf.

Wanda is helped to her feet by Sam, as Steve catches his shield and immediately begins to barrel down the hall, Natasha hot on his heels. She tasted blood in her mouth, sickly warm. The room was blurred by water rising in her eyes. Her chest was burning, and her joints were already aching.

"You alright?" Sam asked, "That didn't look very fun."

Wanda grunts, taking the hand offered to her and brushing some dust from her shoulders. "I'm fine. We should probably get going before they leave us."

Sam nods, "Yeah. Our parents suck."

Wanda laughed (coughed), taking a further moment to recuperate. Sam waited for her to nod once more before they ran after Steve and Natasha. The pair was tearing up the next room, working in near-perfect tandem. For some reason, it made Wanda's chest constrict.

The rest of the bunker was cleared without much fuss. They attempted to collect the weapon that almost gave Wanda a concussion, but when they cornered the woman who was using it (Who didn't make it easy to get to her either, of course, with how much she fired the damn thing), she pressed a button that made it self-destruct in her hands.

"I coulda gone without seeing that," Sam said once they reached the surface again. Steve was carrying the woman using the weapon of his shoulder like a fireman, and Natasha was snarking with Stark about how long it'd take the government to clean this place up. She was holding a thumb drive that they'd downloaded all of the bunker's digital records onto, and all the files that had stood out to them.

"Rumlow wasn't here," Steve said.

"Yeah," Sam responded, "But hey, we got more intel. We all got more nightmare fuel too, but hey. One less HYDRA base out there."

Steve inclined his head slowly. "Going soft, Sam?"

Sam scoffed. "Hardly. I just want to be able to eat my lunch."

Steve and Sam continued banter on the quinjet, and all the way back to the compound, too. Wanda spent the flight with Natasha in the jet's medbay, speaking in short, staccato spurts. Her chest was still tight when she got off.


	6. Chapter 6

**Trigger Warning: there are scenes of torture near the end of this chapter. It isn't explicit or gory, but it's there. **

* * *

**The weather** was overcast - autumn had begun early this year. The cobbled street was sharp and winding, in a state of disrepair so potent that the leaves carried by the breeze would occasionally slip between the stones. The man adjusted the collar of his coat, pulling it tighter against his neck to fight the chill, even if he didn't truly mind how harsh the cool breeze felt against his bare skin.

The man's eyes were narrowed, brown, and cold. His hair teetered on the edge between mahogany and jet-black, kept in a strict part that favored his right side. His long, flowing coat was a garment he'd picked up at a local thrift shop, where he purposefully spoke Sokovian until the woman running it took pity on him and gave it to him for free. The man didn't care for navy blue overmuch, but it would be distinctive enough that he'd be remembered more so for the color than his face - which he appreciated, because he planned to throw the coat into a dumpster as soon as possible.

The man eventually stopped in front of an old house that stood at the end of the street, about twenty years yet to be renovated. The porch had pillars painted garishly white, with two small bushes in front of it. Everything about the house stunk of American middle-class apathy.

He rang the doorbell and waited, hands in his coat, noting that the windows were made of thicker glass than they ought to have been - his pistol certainly wouldn't be able to penetrate them if the situation degenerated to that state.

The door opened to reveal a woman in the twilight of her youth. Her jeans appeared to match a brand the man had seen in the thrift store, as did her blouse. She gave him a small smile. "Can I-"

The man didn't hesitate for a second. He pulled out a semi-automatic pistol that he'd bought from a sporting goods store a mile or so away and swung it hard and fast at her head. The woman's eyes widened, and in quick succession she caught her attacker's arm, twisting it until his firearm clattered to the floor. She then yanked him downward, ramming his chin into her knee.

The man swept the woman's legs out from under her, slipping his arm free of her grasp as he withdrew a combat knife from inside his coat.

Not a moment later the woman's husband came running into the house's small foyer, eyes bedragged and concerned. He gasped as his wife caught a stab aimed for her heart, and grabbed the man by the throat, digging her fingers into her assailant's skin.

"Call the police!" she grunted.

Her husband scrambled over to the phone, wincing as he heard the fight continue in the parlor. As he reached for the phone, however, he heard a loud _crack! _that rang so hard he clutched his ears. The landline tumbled over, a hole right through the number nine.

The husband's eyes flickered over to his wife, and his breath froze in his throat.

His wife and their attacker both had guns pointed at each other. Both party's hair was messy and they were both panting, body's tense. The husband had never seen anything like the look in his wife's eyes, and it scared him half to death: the clenched jaw, narrowed eyes - this, he realized, was what she'd hidden from him all those years. A killer, well-practised and swift as a wraith.

It happened in a moment. The man threw himself to the floor, and the wife fired, hitting the wall. Her attacker fired - right at the husband.

The woman's eyes widened, and then narrowed in righteous, burning fury. She charged forward, sending a kick to the man's right side, only for it to be caught and her leg to be yanked forward, sending her to the ground. She was halfway to her feet when her attacker slammed his pistol into her temple.

The couple's attacker wasted no time in dragging the unconscious bodies of the couple down to the house's basement (after making absolutely sure his shot had merely grazed the husband, which it had), closing and locking both the front and basement doors. He moved the husband and wife down to the house's basement in silence, only accompanied by the steady sound of his own breathing. The man tied the woman's husband to one of their kitchen chairs, covering his mouth with duct tape. The woman woke up with her wrists tied to the back of another kitchen chair by zip ties, and an odd sensation over her mouth.

The woman blinked for a moment while her eyes adjusted to the light; she recognized the walls of her basement, the various goods that decorated the shelves; duct tape, boxes of trash bags, extra packs of toilet paper. They were missing a propane tank and gasoline. Her eyes shot wide when she saw her husband, tied to his own chair, duct tape over his mouth, and a purpling bruise on the side of his head. His eyes were closed.

She tried to scream, but felt something restraining her mouth, muffling her. Her eyes shot down and saw, to her horror, duct tape over her mouth as well.

Then she saw him. The man who she'd opened the door for: sharp brown eyes, hazel-black hair, sharp jawline and unreadable expression. He emerged from just beyond the light provided by the lightbulb between her and her husband, missing his blue coat. He wore an ocean gray tee and black sweatpants, an insultingly simple ensemble for someone committing the acts he was. She struggled against her bonds, glaring at him as he got closer.

The man's steps were careful, almost entirely silent yet still full of purpose. "Good morning, Mrs. Bank." he said. The woman couldn't place his accent - it was eastern European, but didn't sound like anything she'd heard in her life. "Or should I say, Sasha Kuznetsov. You were quite difficult to find."

If Sasha had been able, she would've spat in his face.

"Don't bother struggling," the man said, "I haven't seen anyone break that type of bond on their own in twenty years."

Sasha eyes bored into his, revolted and righteously angered. The man crouched down in front of her, so they were at the same level. Sasha anger was pierced a bit by how dispassionate the man's face was.

"I don't want to hurt you," the man said, "And screaming won't get your neighbor's attention. The movie theatre is missing some staff."

Sasha's eyes widened for a moment, before narrowing again. She growled from low in her throat, shunting her fear aside. She'd prepared for something like this. If only-

"Your firearm was well chosen," her captor said, withdrawing a small, nine milimeter pistol. "A glock twenty-six. Standard magazine size of ten rounds, no measured rate of fire." The man's straightened his back and walked behind her husband, grabbing him by the hair and pressing the barrel of Mrs. Bank's pistol into the side of her husband's head. Her husband's eyes snapped open, widening when her saw his wife. He tried to stand, but Sasha shook her head. He glanced up and saw the man who'd attacked his wife, and he felt panic utterly encompass him when he realized what the cold sensation against his head was.

The couple's attacker said, "Sasha, you went AWOL from the FSB on June eleven, 2002." Mrs. Bank maintained her glare, unfazed. The man continued, "On August nine, you defected to SHIELD agent Clint Barton in Budapest. You received a false identity and were moved through South America and East Asia until you were finally settled in Massachusetts." Sasha showed no reaction, and so her captor went further, "You Married Marvin Bank September eighteen, 2007."

Sasha tried to move her right thumb up through a zip tie, setting her jaw and forcing her face into a calm expression. Anger wouldn't do her - or Marvin - any good if she didn't put it toward something useful.

"You defected from the FSB while working in a projected entitled Herakles." Her captor said, "You were asked whether or not you desired custody of the subject involved, and you declined the request. You were, however, informed of the false name the subject, in case SHIELD's foster families were killed." Her captor pressed the barrel of Sasha's pistol a bit harder against her husband's temple. "What is it?"

Sasha said nothing, staring her captor dead in the eye coolly.

The man sighed, removing her gun from her husband's head. "If you tell me now, I don't have to go further than threats."

Sasha gazed back at him impassively. She knew exactly what he was implying, and it made her heart beat faster, but she refused to let her worry show. She would find a way out of this. She knew she would.

Her captor looked away, his face neutral, and placed her handgun on one of the basement's shelves, retrieving a hammer. Sahsa directed her eyes to her husband's.

After their eighth year of marriage, she had divulged her true past to her husband. The way he had stared at her that rainy October day had stuck with her for weeks, as had the anxiety that it would be too much for him. Her time as a KGB and FSB agent hadn't shattered their marriage as she had feared, however. After a week and a half where Marvin was more distant than usual, he came home from work one day with a bouquet and a small smile across his face.

"Someone might come after us," she'd said later that night. Marvin nodded and squeezed her hand.

"I know, but we're protecting a child. That's worth it."

Sasha hoped to God that his morals would hold up, because when their captor brought his hammer down on her husband's pinky, she wasn't able to fight her flinch.

Sasha was back to glaring at her interrogator when he met her eyes impassively. "I repeat my question."


	7. Chapter 7

** Natasha woke **up to see the sky was still pitch black. She glanced over at her bedside table, and found that the clock read 5:25 AM. She'd woken up five minutes before her alarm.

She got out of bed and held back a yawn, putting her comforter back in its proper place before she walked to her window. It was large, made of bullet-proof glass and had its curtain pulled in front of it. Natasha split the curtain just a bit, taking note of the dimmed lights that ran along the path to the mess hall. There was a guard patrolling it, a woman who's resume and past Natasha had combed through excessively. She shared her route with another guard, but he wouldn't have his shift until two AM the next day. Natasha noted the posture of the guard, relaxed yet still tense enough to leap into action if she was needed.

The compound had surprised Natasha, especially considering that Tony I-invite-terrorists-to-attack-my-cliffside-mansion Stark had been the main designer of it; the security was the best of the best, made up of veterans and the best individual private contractors available, and not a single member had met any other before getting hired. The technicians were graduates of Ivy leagues, headed by a graduate of MIT. Each person on site went through mandatory self-defense classes and was taught marksmanship if the need ever arose. The cameras were stark tech, equal with those the military used, with the footage being digitally sent to multiple server rooms hidden in remote bunkers around the globe, all of which could be used if need be as well. The compound's AI, FRIDAY, changed the firewall of every electronic device present from a list billions of entries long at a randomly generated time. The place was an art-deco fortress, on par with anything SHIELD had ever constructed, and above many military bases. Nothing got in or out without one of the Avengers getting notified.

Natasha closed the curtains and went through her morning rituals as she had for the past six months, spending exactly one minute brushing her teeth, one minute flossing, thirty seconds sloshing around and spitting out mouthwash, and five minutes in the shower. She dried herself in two minutes, dressed in forty-five seconds, and combed back her hair so it wouldn't be in her way during her morning stretches.

Natasha took a minute amount of pleasure in feeling the tenseness built up over sleep leave her. By the time she was finished stretching, the sun was beginning to rise, and she saw the contradictorily bulky yet spry frame of Steve Rogers in the midst of his morning jog around the compound, a considerably slower (likely complaining) Sam Wilson trailing behind him. She had five more minutes before Steve finished, ten before Sam came trailing in behind him, sweaty and breathless, and fifteen before the rest of the Avengers invaded the kitchen to make her breakfast in peace.

Natasha ate simply, toasting whole-grain wheat bread and putting exactly two and a half cups of greek yogurt into a bowl, mixing in another cup of shredded almonds and blueberries in as well. She poured herself a glass milk, noting that the milk was only a few days from its best by date.

"You're getting slower old man," Natasha called over her shoulder as she sat down, "Took you an extra three seconds today."

"Yeah, well," Steve responded, "I turn one hundred pretty soon."

"I'd lay off the milk then," Natasha said, "It's very calorie dense."

Steve exhaled sharply out of his nose, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Right."

"Just giving advice." Natasha said lightly.

As per usual, Sam joined them ten more minutes later, while Steve was cutting up his apples. He laughed breathlessly at his friend, unfolding a small towel from his pocket, wiping his face. "You want fries with that, Steve?"

Steve's plate, by that point, had six waffles stacked up, with a tall glass of milk and three apples cut up beside the waffles. He gave Sam a small grin, as his friend grabbed a banana and started to peel it, leaning against the counter. Steve sat down across from Natasha, taking a napkin and setting it next to his plate.

"Is it just me," Sam said after he finished his banana, opening the fridge, "But are Rumlow's hideouts getting worse as time goes on?"

"Well," Steve said, "he's running out of options. None of the criminals around here want to work with him except that Vulture person, and Fury's people have been securing what SHIELD bunkers haven't been destroyed."

"This one didn't even have a pool table in the common room." Sam said, placing some eggo waffles in the toaster oven, "That's villainous goon entertainment 101."

Natasha finished her glass of milk and pushed her seat away from the table. "Still doesn't explain the weapon that woman had, though."

Steve nodded, wiping some waffle crumbs off his face with his napkin. "Tony thinks it might be one of the Vulture's, but the thing it shot wasn't purple, like the rest of his weapons. It was red."

"That 'thing' was a laser, Steve." Sam said, sitting down in the chair next to him. "It was a laser straight outta _Star Wars_."

Natasha put her dishes away as Steve rolled his eyes. She began to fill a pot with hot water, placing it on the stove. She turned to Sam and Steve. "Coffee?"

Vision should be here, Natasha thought, as Steve shrugged and Sam nodded enthusiastically. He said, "Two sugars please. And a bit of cream."

Natasha was grabbing mugs when Tony walked in, his hair wild, wearing black jeans and a faded AC/DC tee. Dull, disheveled eyes surveyed the room. "Double the caffeine for mine. Please."

Natasha frowned at him. "So I'm guessing you didn't sleep last night?"

Tony didn't answer her question or meet her eyes, briskly retrieving a carton of chocolate milk and pouring himself a glass. "Justin Hammer's been released from prison."

Natasha's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

"Yep." Tony nodded. Steve and Sam exchanged looks. "Got out on probation for 'Good behavior'," Tony made air quotes, draining his glass of chocolate milk. "It's bull, of course, but the rich get what they want."

"You're _filthy _rich, Stark." Sam piped up. Tony turned his gaze to him flatly.

"Hammer's more of an asshole than me, Sammy. He also threatened an entire expo of civilians just to kill me."

Sam went quiet, tilting his head forward gravely. Tony looked at Steve. "That weapon the HYDRA goon had? It was modified by Hammer Tech. They process all of their own materiel, and their machines are cheap as Hammer can afford while keeping his contracts. The weapon had a welding burn identical to one I saw on their a missile at an exhibition before he got arrested. Well, one of Happy's guys got me the photo but," Tony grabbed an apple out of the fish and washed it, "Same thing."

"It's not." Sam piped up.

"Shut up, Wilson. Fly away."

"You're sure about this, Tony?" Steve asked.

Tony snorted. "Trust me, Cap. It's him. The NYPD also arrested some Hammer industries people trying to buy some of the Vulture's weapons a few months ago."

Steve inclined his head. "Find more proof. Hammer could twist this if we play it the wrong way."

"So _demanding_, Cap."

"Tony."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony sighed heavily. "I know. I know."

His knuckles turned white for a brief moment, and Natasha finally managed to met his eyes, raising a pointed brow. Tony gave her a minute nod.

"Well if you two are finished flirting," Natasha said, placing three cups of coffee on the kitchen island, taking one for herself. "Breakfast was fun."

She walked out of the room just as Wanda passed her. Natasha asked her, "Hey. How're you holding up?"

Wanda hesitated for a moment. Too long. "I - yes. My head hurts a bit, but I'm fine." Wanda paused for a moment, then added with a small smile, "Dr. Cho does good work."

Natasha squeezed Wanda's shoulder. The young woman tensed for a moment at her touch, but relaxed quickly. Her smile deepened just a bit more, and she nodded.

"She does." Natasha said, letting go of Wanda's shoulder. She slipped past her, feeling the corners of her mouth quirking up.

By the time she turned the corner, her mouth was back to its proper state. A grim, flat line overtook her face, while an ember of trepidation sparked in her chest. She promptly swamped it, her boots _clacking _loudly against the polished floor. She slipped into her quarters and made a beeline to the bathroom, retrieving a burner phone from a compartment in her bedside table. She had added it just after she first arrived, and installed a small genetic lock to make absolutely sure that it - and the phone inside - were absolutely secure.

Natasha took the block, no-name-brand cell phone and went to her bathroom, and then went further into her shower. She turned on the phone, selecting the only contact.

"_Yes?"_

"Alex," Natasha said, "Justin Hammer's been released from prison."

"_The one who tried to kill Iron Man?"_

"The same," Natasha responded. "We think he's working with Crossbones."

"_You mean - oh. Him." _there was a pause for a moment, and the voice that spoke to Natasha picked up a quiet, fretful note. _"He doesn't-?"_

"I don't know." Natasha responded. "Fury tried to get the file off most public places on the web but someone probably found it. And if anyone could break the encryption, it would be Rumlow's cell."

"_That's not good."_

"Yeah," Natasha said, "It isn't. I'm planning on calling Fury and seeing if he can get an agent on this case."

"_Right. We lost the detail after - well, you know." _Natasha heard a sigh from the other end of the line, _"Do you think he can?"_

"I don't know." Natasha said. "I'm sorry."

"_He - they - they're sneaking out now. Ever since the - well, that day - they've been distant. If we get an agent, they'd have to follow them."_

"They're avoiding the curfew, too?"

"_Yep."_

"I want this stuff as far away from them as possible," Natasha said, "They shouldn't be wandering around at night."

"_I've tried to tell them, but - god, how did -" _Natasha heard another sigh, _"I know grief does things to people, but I've let this go on too long. Sorry."_

"Don't be," Natasha responded, "You're being a good guardian for them. I get it."

"_They take their camera sometimes. Maybe you can use a satellite to check out the rooftops?"_

"That's a good idea," Natasha said, "I'll see what I can do from here."

"_Me too."_

"See you." Natasha said. There was a moment of silence, and she felt another pang of trepidation, before she heard,

"_See you."_


	8. Chapter 8

** Peter sighed **as he sat down, gaining a slightly confused look from the student beside him, which he found himself less concerned about than he should've been. His head was buzzing. He'd spent the weekend attempting to determine who made the weapon, but he was starting to give into frustration by Sunday; he'd run every sort of test he could conduct with his limited resources, managing to highly annoy a pack of rabid cats in the process. Peter had tried in vain to get fingerprints off of the weapon like a CSI, and he actually managed to before he realized that he hadn't been doing any part of the process with gloves on. Peter had called his investigation there for the time being, but he wasn't able to keep the weapon out of his head.

It was dangerous. Very dangerous. If someone got hurt-

_No, _Peter thought, _I'm gonna find who made it and kick their butt. _

He tried to focus on his English teacher's lecture about _Moby Dick_, however his thoughts were seemingly determined to repeat themselves. What if someone got hurt? What if May found it? What if the police find it? Like, sure, he'd been lucky this weekend because the hospital gave her a promotion which brought a crap ton of paperwork for her to do, but that wouldn't last forever. What if the Avenger already know about these weapons, and they track the one he had to his house? What-

"Mr. Parker," his teacher's voice cut into Peter's trainwreck of thought, "Are you paying attention?"

Peter jumped in his seat, making it audibly creak. He forced himself to smile. "Yeah. Uh, Whales."

The class snickered, and his teacher gave him a scowl. Peter's stomach dropped a few feet at the sight. His teacher said, "Well, Mr. Parker, I'm glad your daydreaming wasn't off-topic. You wouldn't mind meeting me after class, would you?"

Peter gulped, feeling his face flush as he nodded and answered quietly, "Yes sir."

Peter didn't even get to bury his head in his arms and sink his face into the soft refuge of his hoodie's fabric. He forced his eyes up and open for the rest of the lesson, a task that he felt like something out of _The Divine Comedy. _Except, of course, he wasn't Dante, nor did he have a Beatrice to motivate him.

Peter spent the rest of the class until the bell rang in a state of mental war with himself, trudging up to the teacher's desk at the end of class feeling more exhausted than he was probably healthy. To his surprise, though, his teacher's expression softened greatly once the other students had left.

"Are you alright, Mr. Parker?" his teacher asked. Peter felt his stomach tighten. It hadn't recovered from its fall yet.

"Yeah!" Peter said, forcing another smile. "I'm fine!"

"Indoor voice please, Mr. Parker," his teacher said, causing Peter to flush again. "But you're certain you're fine?"

Peter licked his lips, and then cursed himself for doing so. "Yeah." he said, "I'm fine. I'm just kinda tired, is all. That bio test last week took a lot out of me." Peter coughed, looking at his shoes, then the wall, then his teacher.

His teacher surveyed him with his hands knit together under his chin. "Your biology teacher didn't give out a test last week, Mr. Parker. That was two weeks ago."

Peter's voice vacated itself somewhere in his sternum. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, the color draining from his face a little bit more with each passing second.

"Oh." he said. "Have you guys been… conferencing… or…?"

His teacher sighed. "Mr. Parker," he said, "I know what happened last June was difficult for you. We asked our counselors-"

"-I said I was fine." Peter interrupted, clipped. His teacher raised a brow and he quickly added, "Sir."

Peter didn't like the feeling of his teacher's eyes on him; he felt like the man was judging him, and part of him was helpfully supplying the thought of _What if he knows?_

"Your grades have fallen, Mr. Parker." his teacher said. The door opened, and a student for the next period entered; he a smirk on his face, curly black hair, and a smile that made Peter's stomach clench even harder.

"Hey Penis!" Flash said.

"Mr. Thompson, if you would step outside please," Peter's teacher said. Disappointment flickered across Flash's face before he scampered out, just in time for another student to enter, making Peter's stomach drop another dozen feet.

Liz Allen gave him a small smile that turned into a slightly concerned frown when Peter returned her wave with a gaping mouth. Peter spun back to look at his teacher, who sighed once more.

"We're concerned about you, Mr. Parker," his teacher told him as he pulled a sticky-note from his desk. He scribbled his name on it and handed it to Peter. "Here you go. Enjoy your next class, Mr. Parker."

Peter swallowed. "Um. Yeah. Awesome. Thanks."

Peter bolted out of the room, throwing the door open with more force than he thought, because it smacked against the brick wall. Peter facepalmed, and he heard snickering from just outside the view of the door's window.

"Nice one, Penis." Flash grinned, before shoving his way past the other boy.

Peter rushed to his next class, and his grades were the last thing on his mind.

* * *

"Woah! You're an Avenger!"

Peter dropped down behind the mugger (Would-be purse snatcher, technically), and let out a gasp. "Tony Stark?!"

The man spun around, showing off his Party City copy of Iron Man's mask in all its non-glory. He held rusty switchblade in his hand, which Peter promptly nabbed from his grasp with a "yoink!" and some webbing.

He felt more than a bit of satisfaction when he caught the switchblade, if he was honest. It had taken him many mishaps and too many cuts from pieces of cardboard over the summer to finally get the technique down, but now he could do it like _that_.

The mugger stood stock still for a second, stunned, before Peter rushed forward and kicked him in the face. Peter heard a crunch as his foot hit something harder than skin and most definitely softer than bone, and he felt a twinge of guilt as the guy hit the ground.

"Ouch." Peter cringed. "Didn't mean to hit you that hard. My bad, man." He stuck the guy's arms and legs to the ground, then turned his attention to the woman he'd just saved.

She was tall and willowy, at least two heads taller than he was and she looked down at him with surprise.

"You sound like my son." she said.

Peter blinked, then laughed awkwardly. "Oh. Um, cool."

The woman's expression grew stiffer. "My son is thirteen."

"Hey! I'm fourteen!" Peter said, only to realize a second later what he'd just admitted. "Um."

"How did you make all this?" the woman asked, taking a small step forward. Peter took a step back from her. He scratched the back of his neck for a second, before quickly forcing the offending appendage back to his side.

"Ah…" he began, "... the dumpster?"

"You're a dumpster diver?" the woman was frowning now.

_Okay, enough uncomfortable questions._

"Heh. Yeah." Peter jumped onto the wall on his left, and he could see the woman's eyes widen a fraction. He stuck a web to the wall on his right, shouting, "Call the cops, have a good night ma'am!" as he swung up and a good ten feet over the building, landing with a roll on the roof of a sketchy-looking shop.

Peter was swinging home in no time, but he really could've gone without hearing the woman sigh sadly before he left. Peter tried to shake the conversation off in his mind, but he by the time he got onto his fire escape, he'd gone through it at least a dozen times.

He crept into his room without trouble, pushing his drawn blinds up (If they were drawn, he wouldn't have to deal with the window) as he crawled through the gap. He landed on the floor as softly as he could manage, then abandoned all pretense of subtlety when he heard May open the front door. He stripped himself of his suit and stuffed it into his closet, behind some of his other hoodies, changing into sweats and a millenium falcon t-shirt just as his bedroom door opened.

"Hey May," he said.

"Hey kiddo," May was smiling as she wrapped him in the vice grip of her arms. Peter responded in kind quickly, albeit he couldn't help his wince. He'd have to stretch later. "Y'know, I kinda miss the days when you shoulders weren't broader than my arms."

Peter felt his face heat up. "I've, uh, been doing push-ups."

He'd been doing more than that. While his powers had increased his muscle mass drastically, all that muscle had to be maintained, and he also needed a way to explain to the kids at school why he was so built, if his plan of wearing baggy everything until the day he died fell through. As well, and he knew this would probably weird anybody who knew him well (Just Ned and May), but he had eventually come to enjoy the exercise; it gave him a routine, and it helped wake him up in the morning. That was a big plus.

"Well keep doing 'em." May said, pulling back from the hug to ruffle his hair. "I picked up thai on the way home. Mind joining me for dinner?"

Peter felt a wave a suspicion, but he nodded. "Sure."

"Great, Petey." May sniffed the air for a moment, "Could you take a shower? You smell."

"Sure." Peter responded.

He felt May's eyes on his back through his entire walk to the shower, making his heart rate pick up a beat or two. He tried to calm himself down in he shower, shrug off May's specific request to join her for dinner on a school night as just something to do with normal parental stuff, but all he could think about was how close she was to his suit and the weapon - how close he was to losing everything he'd worked so hard to build.

_Ugh._

A sect of Peter shook its head when the thought entered his mind, however the rest of him felt defensive. Okay, fine, maybe it was a bit self-centered, but he had built his suit, hadn't he? Watched too many hours of sewing tutorials and spent many sweaty nights over June scrounging dumpsters in all black trying to find the components for his goggles. He even made his own webbing - and all of that wasn't even part of some evil backstory! If anyone should've gotten some reward for what they were doing, Peter thought, it ought to be himself. He would never ask for it of course, but he wouldn't have minded to be able to go three days-

"PETER?" May's voice cut into his thoughts over the sound of the shower, "THE THAI'S GETTING COLD!"

Peter almost face-planted in his own bathtub from how loud she sounded. He caught his arm on the shower faucet, and he cringed when it visibly bent.

"C-coming!" Peter shouted back, breathing heavily. Thankfully, it seemed he'd satisfied May, as he didn't get a response. Peter took a few moments to recuperate himself, before carefully turning the shower off. He eyed the shower faucet with tired exasperation, sighing as he pushed the curtain open to get out. He only realized after drying himself that he hadn't actually used any soap.

Peter forced his mouth into as neutral a line as he could get, which he hoped hid his displeasure well enough, because he wasn't really feeling the love. As he sat down across from May, he also remembered all the homework he had to do. The only silver lining he saw was that if he front-loaded it all tonight, he wouldn't have to worry about homework until next Monday, if his luck held.

It _so _wouldn't, Peter was sure, but hey - positive thinking, right?  
He sat down across from May stiffly, his back straightened. He took a few bites out of his pad thai, twirling the noodles around his fork in a meager attempt to not have to meet her eyes.

"So," May said, "how was school today hun?"

Peter ate the not insignificant amount of noodles he'd wrapped around his fork, swallowing slowly before shrugging. "Alright."

May pursed her lips. Peter shifted in his seat. "It doesn't sound like it was. Are you okay, Peter?"

The fun questions first, then. He hated when May saw right through him - each time she did, his angst over whether or not she'd found him out got higher... and it was plenty high as it was. Peter breathed in and out slowly before answering her question, taking another chunk out of his dish. "I'm just tired."

May chuckled slightly. "I'm not surprised. With all the sneaking out you do, I'm beginning to suspect you're nocturnal."

Peter's blood turned to ice, and of course, because the universe loved messing with him, he felt his face heat up at the same time. He immediately averted his eyes, almost doing a pad thai spit take, barely catching himself at the last moment. He heard the gulp as he swallowed it back down, and winced again.

"I'm not sneaking out." Peter said. May chuckled again, but this time the humor didn't reach her eyes.

"Peter," she said slowly, "I know you sneak out every night. I don't know to where, but I know you aren't home."

Peter shook his head resolutely. "May, I'm not. Why would I even sneak out?"

May sighed heavily. "Peter," she began, "Cut the bullshit, please? It's okay." she gave him a small smile. "I snuck out too. A lot, when I was a kid."

Peter swallowed. His heart was pounding in his chest. He could hear the near-silent hum of the weapon in his room, incredibly faint, but still there. He bit his lip, directed his eyes to the floor; he wanted to cry.

"I'm sorry." he said quietly, studying the pattern of the floor panels. "I didn't - I wanted - I. Um." Peter hung his head, desperately corralling his emotions. The problem was that it was like trying to control a flooding river with twigs; even the smallest gap would put the entire structure at risk, which he could ill afford. "M'sorry."

He heard the scraping of May's chair, her footsteps against the floor as she walked over to him. He kept his eyes on the old oak of his apartment. Peter flinched when may put a hand under his chin."

Peter made an attempt to keep himself from meeting her gaze, but gave up, schooling his features into a fragile neutral. May ran her free hand through his hair as she spoke. "Petey, you're alright." she told him, "I snuck out way more than you. I'm just worried. There was this thing on the news today - not sure if you know about it, but that Spider-vigilante caught a weapons dealer."

Peter blinked. "Oh."

Should he be happy about that? He didn't pay much attention to the news, or what people were saying these days. Most of it went in one ear and right out the other. Peter figured that if it was important enough, he wouldn't have to check the _Times_. An oversight, he'd admit, but it made everything else a little more manageable.

"It was only a dozen blocks from us, Pete." May was far more serious than Peter ever wanted to hear. "You know shady stuff happens after dark around here. Pictures aren't worth your life."

"How do you kn-" Peter began, before he paused at May's flat look. He averted his eyes again. "Right. Not important."

May reached across the table, taking on of Peter's hands in her own. "Peter, I'm only gonna ask this once." Peter's eyes widened. "Please stop sneaking out. With those weapons out there, it's too dangerous. Okay?"

Peter stared at her, his breath hitching. He should just say yes; agree and be more careful in the future. He could make a dummy of himself, like the guys who escaped Alcatraz. He could probably find something to loop the sound of soft breathing while he was at it, too. Yet Peter also knew that if he was honest, he wouldn't have to lie to keep up the thing that got him lying in the first place. And even if he wanted to keep his powers a secret, it wasn't like anything was forcing him outside every night.

_Peter, with great power comes great responsibility. Remember that, because one day, with your brain, I'm sure you'll get to some pretty high places. _

A gunshot that knocked out one of the lights. A scream. An angry man with a pistol robbing a convenience store, with only the clerk and a scared teenager as witnesses. Peter could still recall how he ran away, heart feeling like it was about to burst out of his ribcage, terror giving him one directive: get home.

He remembered waking up the next day, realizing that he'd slept in. Cheery sunlight was streaming through his bedroom window. He shot out of bed, threw his bedroom door open, only to find May sitting at the kitchen table, clearly alarmed by the bang of the door against their wall.

"I slept in!" Peter told her, "My alarm didn't go off! I'm sorry, I'll remember next time!"

"Peter," May had responded, her voice shaky, sit down. Please."

"W-what's going on?" Peter asked her. "Are you okay? Did uncle Ben already leave for work?"

Peter pulled himself back to the present, forcing himself to nod at his aunt.

"Okay. I will."


	9. Chapter 9

** Wanda could've **gone without the concussion.

She knew she was lucky; she'd collided with reinforced concrete at speeds that would've broken her forearm - practically, she'd escaped without a slap on the wrist. All she had to contend with was the throbbing in her head, and the soreness in her hands from the explosion.

The hallways became long again. She felt as if they'd all been lengthened by at least a quarter mile, at the least. The sleekly pristine, ever-cleansed surface of the walls became a surface she ran her fingers over as she walked. Whenever the sunlight poured in to a room, blithely warm and painfully golden, Wanda's mind conjured up images of an older yellow. The kind created by the lights of the bunker, which gave everything it touched a faintly eerie tint.

Wanda knew she was being immature - they'd won, and handily so. However, all she was truly contemplating was how she felt that energy blast hit her shield; how she felt, in the split-second before her shield was broken, the hint of the heat of the plasma; the force of her shield being broken, like a punch to her solar plexus. The memory replayed in her dreams, always in some abstract scenario that most definitely meant something, but which she wasn't able to parse through to find deeper meaning.

She could rip vibranium apart, and she'd been knocked flat on her ass by a glorified taser.

Wanda shook her head as she entered the kitchen, eyes narrowing. She'd been disillusioned with the lies she fed herself about the three days bed rest ordered by Dr. Cho in the first five hours, and thirty-three hours in, her mental state hadn't gotten any better. Pushing a few errant strands of hair out of her face, Wanda opened the fridge door, pulling out her takeout from two days ago.

She hadn't meant to forget about it, but she did. To add insult to petty self-disappointment, the saran wrap had been broken by one of Stark's boxes of hot pockets, and the process of removing it took three minutes longer than it should've.

Wanda leaned back against the counter as her leftovers cooked, arms crossed, utterly restless. Ever since joining up with the Avengers, she'd been doing something; in the very beginning she'd been trained relentlessly, however after four months of work out in the field proper, the prospect of doing nothing only brought her into a cycle of internal frustration.

_Pietro didn't die for this, _part of her kept repeating, _you can do better. _

Wanda finished her lunch just as Vision entered the room. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, which made Wanda's eyebrows skyrocket to her hair.

"New style?" she asked him turning on the sink. Vision peered at her, his expression its normal pensive, yet his lips were curled downward the tiniest bit. Wanda asked slowly, "Alright. Is something wrong?"

Vision stayed quiet as he approached the counter, and he reached for an apple. "I am… hungry."

Wanda's eyes widened somewhat. "Oh."

"I was surprised too," Vision said, making Wanda chuckle the slightest bit. Vision tilted his head in response, to which Wanda apologized. Vision shook his head response. "Don't be. Humor is often powerful in humans, especially when you feel you should not find it amusing. I am not offended."

His voice was the same almost-monotone that Wanda found calming yet somewhat unnerving. It was even to a fine edge that made her walls seem utterly pathetic; she was sure that if Vision was a therapist, he'd be scarily good at it. (At the same time, however, she wanted to open up to him. He was the only person on the team like her, who was very much new to their abilities and place in the world. She found comfort and surprising relaxation in her time with him, even if it mostly consisted of quiet moments.)

"Okay." Wanda responded. "Thank you."

Vision lowered his head, his face contemplative all the way down and all the way up. In the moment before he spoke, Wanda swore she saw the corners of his mouth twitch upward. "What would you recommend as my first meal, Wanda?"

Oh.

"W-well," Wanda said, turning sharply to the fridge. Internally, she slapped her forehead. "I was going to have leftovers, but there is-" Wanda's eyes danced across the various items in the fridge; Stark's hot pockets, the three tubs of greek yogurt (all for Steve), the various fresh vegetables. Any and all tupperware was most certainly Steve's, as well, full of rice and steamed greens. He wouldn't mind if she used them, would he?

Wanda shook her head. No, she couldn't do that. But perhaps…

"Is everything alright, Wanda?" Vision asked.

No, Wanda, internally decided, she probably wasn't. She was tense and agitated; the feeling that she was rattling around an empty cell, gilded with modern fineries she has yet to truly earn, with an utter inability to deal with any of it without concerted thought, which more often than not left her more pissed off going out than she was going in. At the moment, however, she… had a guest to entertain.

* * *

Tony ran a hand through his hair, frowning at the hint of silver that shone in the reflection of the wall, even through the hologram screen he stood in front of. He'd only just woken up, and instead of doing what a normal person would do - maybe get breakfast, stretch, take a shower, basically whatever the hell Steve did in the mornings - he headed down here. He'd whipped up a way to track Rumlow's weapons in fifteen minutes last night, a simple repurposing of one of his satellites to search for energy and heat signatures consistent with the ones emitted by chitauri tech during New York, but it wasn't that that got his tuckuss in his lab at the ungodly hour of one in the afternoon. Oh, no.

The thing was, he'd found most of the weapons where he expected them - at an old SHIELD facility installed near the Erie Canal which possessed a frankly absurd underground complex. There was another big spike in energy from an abandoned warehouse located in an abandoned industrial district; Tony guessed that was where the Vulture was operating out of. Those two things he hadn't been surprised by. They were welcome, even. Once they dealt with Rumlow (or while they did), Vulture's crew would probably fold like a house of cards.

However, FRIDAY had also found a signature at an apartment complex in Queens - specifically, the bedroom of one Peter Benjamin Parker.

The kid was fourteen. He'd been orphaned ten years ago, and according to all documentation Tony could find, he'd lived with his Aunt and Uncle until five months ago, when Ben Parker was shot down in the street - by a thug running from the scene of a robbery, which Peter Benjamin Parker had been witness too.

Peter Benjamin Parker went to Midtown Tech on a full scholarship, and up until Ben Parker's death, he'd been a 4.0 student. Robotics club. Honors Society for the Sciences in his middle school. The kid was a genius in his own right, even compared to many of his classmates. His grades had slipped this year, though. If they called it a quarter right now, Peter would have a 3.5. The only reason that mattered, of course, was because reports of a spider-themed vigilante cleaning up Queens had shown up a month and a half after Ben Parker's death, and had only increased in frequency ever since. Now, Tony had been investigating the so-called "Spider-Man" on-and-off for about several weeks now, and he prided himself one being able to crack the case on just about anything.

Spider-Man, though? That was a bigger problem. One that Tony had genuine difficulty solving; none of his candidates had fit anything posted on social media or youtube; while every one of his suspects were very intelligent, they most lived lives either too crowded or too dull. The list had been fifteen people long, and when he reached the penultimate candidate - one who worked for Stark Industries - he thought he had the spider vigilante. She was a brilliant young lady: valedictorian, gymnastics, with a deeply private homelife. She'd also lost both of her parents to a burglary attempt when she was eight. She was of stature similar enough to the spider vigilante, and certainly had the technical know-how to make a suit like the one Tony had seen. She had no significant others, nor any family aside from her foster parents. As well, she was just twenty-five, in her physical and mental prime. Tony had been sure it was her.

But it wasn't. He'd had surveillance looking for her for an entire week and not once did he catch her fighting crime - he'd even seen her do the sensible thing and run _away_ from crimes scenes. Well, that and that Spider-Man also saved her from a mugger later that same day, but details, details.

Eight months ago, in March of last year, Peter Benjamin Parker attended a field trip to Oscorp. Security footage showed Peter getting lost and splitting off from the tour group, until the feed cut when he turned a corner into an unmarked yet still very much restricted area. Tony had had to break into Oscorp's servers himself at two in the goddamned morning, until he found a set of heavily encrypted files with a codename he'd forgotten overnight but whose contents he most certainly had not.

_Apparently, _because Norman Osborn is both a monster and determined to get even creepier, he'd put a team of his best scientists on solving the question that no-one wanted answered: could you mutate a spider to empower a human?

The answer, if Tony's theory was correct, was a resounding yes.

Tony studied the file he'd opened of Peter Parker: his instagram page (still plenty updated since the emergence of Spider-Man), his GPA, his personal history, recordings of Parent-teacher conferences, posts on Facebook by his aunt and uncle (he was also, as it turned out, the kid who he'd saved back during his little spat with Vanko, which was, y'know, not guilt-inducing at all) - everything publicly available on Peter Benjamin Parker.

Peter had been set up with a child therapist for a few weeks after the incident at the Stark Expo. The shrink didn't diagnose any major problems with him, and Peter appeared to take the incident rather well, all things considered. However, the therapist's notes on him described an odd temperament about the boy. She said that Peter, when they first tried talking about the incident, was very controlled - far more controlled than a six year-old should be. He never cried. He was very reserved, albeit when she allowed their sessions to drift to Peter's interests, he got very excitable.

After the death of Ben Parker, Peter had been set up with that same therapist. Her new diagnoses was alarming to Tony. As expected for his weird-ass existence, it wasn't alarming because it showed signs that the kid developed serious mental health issues; Peter had, by her account, showed no warning signs of PTSD or anything worrying - bar the fact that, like he'd been after the incident at the Stark Expo, almost completely silent. Controlled. He hardly answered her questions about anything - not even what he ate. That was an odd thing to Tony, because the kid didn't lose his appetite. He didn't show signs of self-harm or much that was worrying aside from his near-complete silence on anything that wasn't the weather.

After a month, sessions with the therapist ended - and a week after that was the first sighting of Spider-Man. Security cameras had also caught Peter lurking around the Apple and Microsoft stores, and buying fabric - red and blue fabric.

Tony had put all of that together in about twenty minutes, and he still felt like an idiot when he woke up. A very blind, very worried idiot.

That kid had already taken one of Rumlow's weapons - and Tony wasn't putting it past either Hammer or Rumlow to already have (or come up with) some type of tracking system like he had. And if they viewed him as a threat, all it would take is one good shot-

Tony rubbed his brow, sighing heavily.

_Oh, Cap is gonna have a field day with this._


	10. Chapter 10

**Natasha studied **the courtyard, where Steve and Wanda were training. It wasn't easy (or particularly comfortable) for her to admit, but a tiny, radical sect of her held its breath each time Steve's shield came hurtling the young woman's way.

Natasha could tell they were focusing on avoidance. Wanda was scurrying from right to left, more frantic than Natasha would've liked. She knew this particular drill: Steve would try and tag Wanda with padded plastic shields and Wanda was to dodge each shield that came her way, with the endgame of tagging Steve with hand-to-hand once she got close enough.

It was a good exercise. Natasha could teach Wanda all the stealth and CQC she wanted, but if Wanda was caught out of place, firearms and cover could only do so much - especially when the fact that Wanda refused to work with firearms was weighed in. As Wanda slid under one of Cap's shields, that tiny, radical part of her supplied a spark of pride to well up in Natasha's chest.

She heard Wanda groan in pain as she turned away, hesitating just a moment before proceeding further into the Compound, taking a leisurely, roundabout route to the garage. She passed Sam on the way there, who gave her a wave. She reciprocated, but upped her pace a bit once he was gone. The less people that knew about her little excursion, the better.

Natasha had spent the past few days on the phone with Fury, trying to get him to spare an agent to watch over May and her nephew. Just as she'd predicted, however, resources were too tight. Fury was strapped for everything, and every argument she played fell on frustratingly neutral ears.

The morning had passed in a blur of studying satellite images of New York, looking for a face she had done her utmost never to see again. Her world hadn't been the same since her visit to Ben and May Parker's unit two years ago, and no matter how well she policed her thoughts, they always found some way to wind back to him. Natasha had even put restrictions on what she was allowed to search for, fully in the knowledge that if she ever gave in to her attachment, she'd blow through every system she'd meticulously designed.

And she had. In two hours, weeks of carefully constructed security melted in the face of a burning worry that held her in a vice grip for a space that passed like fifteen minutes. The hand guiding felt familiar and alien all the same, like a winter come late.

Tony had yet to come forward with something to find Rumlow, which hopefully meant that she'd have time to go where she needed to. She had quite the distance to cover, even though she had moved all of her files and resources on him to New York state after Loki's try at taking over the world. If something happened and she was late, well, she was _technically_ running a Rumlow-related errand.

The drive took her three hours and fifteen minutes, where the most interference she got was from a burner phone that she promptly turned face down and shut off. The scenery surrounding her was naturalistic in an intensely suburban way; trees that lined the side of the road, with just enough depth to be convincing, albeit Natasha knew full well that they brushed right up against dense neighborhoods; the occasional animal risking it across the roadway; a cloudless blue sky full of light pollution. To the average driver, there was comfort to be scrounged up in the consistency. For Natasha, the monotony left her with nothing aside from the road and her own head.

Eventually, Natasha diverted from the interstate to a spindly country road. Asphalt was traded for dirt, a difference which Natasha didn't appreciate. The lines of trees became denser. The sun was just beginning to set when she stopped, about halfway down the road. She pulled over with a wary glance gaze. She got out and locked the vehicle down, grabbing a small backpack from the trunk of the car as she checked her person for anything her indifferent satisfaction, nothing was.

She primed both of her widow's bites and gave her pistols another examination as she made a path straight for the woods. Soon enough, the bright sunlight only shone through between the leaves of the trees, casting shadows across the ground. Natahsa avoided the larger branches, but with the ground littered with small pine cones and twigs, there was only so much she could do. Even in the knowledge that the odds of someone being out here were essentially zero, each snap of a twig or crunch of a pinecone brought forth another look around herself.

The most threatening thing she encountered was a doe. It must've been born recently, because it was peppered twice over with white spots. It locked eyes with Natasha for five seconds exactly, before it fled farther into the forest.

Natasha gave the forest one last full scan as a ramshackle, dilapidated cabin came into view. She drew one of her pistols, switching the safety off with a press of her thumb. The sound didn't carry much past her person, but it gained the woods yet another lightning-quick scan as she opened the door to the cabin.

There were spiders. The sun was almost entirely set, and the oranges and yellows gave the threads of the webs in the light's purview a slight glow. The bed in the cabin was turned over, missing its mattress, and a long-suffering fridge was on its side next to a combination stove/oven that could've easily dated back thirty or fifty years. Cabinets were either strewn about the floor in pieces or had their doors crookedly hanging off their hinges. The dinner table was overturned, missing a leg, and the remains of two chairs were intermingled with the cabinets on the floor.

Natahsa left the cabin and briskly entered the cellar, paying the forest one last glance as she did. She pulled a flashlight from her belt, switching it on to reveal that the cellar was just as ripped up as the cabin proper. She approached one of the walls, running her hand along the rotting oak paneling until she found a gap just wide enough for her finger. She stuck it in the gap, and soon enough, the wall opposite her slid back to reveal a steel passageway. She noted the beginnings of rust in the corners, and kept her flashlight trained ahead of her until she encountered another door. Reinforced steel, military-grade. A keypad was to the right of the door, which Natasha into which she punched 8-1-0-1.

A moment later, with a nearly-imperceptible _click, _the door opened. Natasha entered proceeding room, which she crossed in ten paces. She punched another code into another keypad, and there was a hum as the lights came on.

The bunker was standard SHIELD fare; all necessities attended too, with some extra equipment for exercise should an agent have to stay longer than expected. Natasha reminded herself to see if she couldn't change the code to enter the safehouse as she approached a filing cabinet, and retrieved a thick, unmarked manila folder from it. She sat down at a desk in the far left corner, activating the computer set up there. She typed in the password sharply, opening a file entitled "1".

As it came up, Natasha opened the folder in her hands.

* * *

_ "Pete?"_

_ Peter blinked. He dragged his eyes away from the wall, which showed a lighthouse overlooking a stormy day. It was pretty. The blues and blacks contrasted wonderfully with the staunch whites, yellows, and reds of the lighthouse. He turned his head to the source of the voice. _

_ May. _

_ Peter couldn't say that he didn't feel anything. Or that he was numb, even. Because he wasn't. He knew he was hurting - but he was the cause of his problems. Because he took that one wrong turn. Because he entered a room filled with spiders and thought 'Hey, let's check _this _place out!'_

_ Peter knew May had it worse than he did. She was married to Uncle Ben. She loved him. He was her husband. What was he in comparison? The boy blinked, his throat dry. He attempted a smile. _

_ "Hey," he said. "The - the session was good."_

_ It really wasn't. Peter had kept his mouth shut the entire time. He'd said like, ten words, max. He hated the room. The couch was too comfortable and the walls were too pristine. He didn't hate his therapist, Dr. Garnell, but he didn't want to talk to her. He felt like a cockroach - stubbornly alive despite the fact that he should be dead. He should've died in that convenience store, squabbling with the clerk over gummy bears. He should've been shot fighting the robber, using his superpowers (the term was still very odd to him) for something good. He should've tried to fight the robber, period. He should've done so much more. _

_ May's face wasn't unreadable, which made Peter's inability to parce her expression that much more frustrating and terrifying. Her brow was wrinkled, but she was smiling. It didn't make sense. A part of Peter wished she'd start crying again. He could deal with that. Not well, but he it made sense to him. _

_ "That's great," May said. "Where do you want to eat out tonight?"_

_ Peter wanted to eat, but he didn't want to eat with her. Or anyone, for that matter. It reminded him that May could only afford four sessions with Dr. Garnell, and that the takeout was only eating further into her wallet, and this problem could've been lessened if Uncle Ben were still here - if he had done better. _

_ "Delmar's?" Peter asked. _

_ "Sure thing, sweetie." May widened her smile. To his shame, Peter couldn't meet her eyes. They left Dr. Garnell's workplace (Was it a therapy building? Practice? Peter didn't know, but he also knew he wouldn't google it later), and May grabbed his hand. Peter stiffened, but forced himself to calm to eff down in short order. _

_ (_She might not insist on keeping you close if you were better_, Peter thought.)_

_ The bell attached to the door chimed as he and May entered Delmar's. It was ten in the morning, so the lunch rush wasn't in just yet. There was one guy in the deli, and from the bags under his eyes and shabby appearance, Peter guessed that he was a university student. The guy had a weary grin as he paid for his order (A number 3 on rye), and Peter managed to catch his eye as he left. The guy immediately narrowed his eyes. _

_ He knew what was what. _

_ Peter averted his eyes, shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He clenched his fists as he and May approached the counter, feeling the fabric break. _

_ They ordered something. Peter thought it was his usual; but he didn't want to care, if he was truthful. _

_ The idea had sprung from years of childhood fantasies. Wouldn't it be great to be a superhero? Be friends with Iron Man and Captain America? Save the freaking world? Wouldn't it be _awesome?

_It was stupid, really. Using his powers to fight crime? Make himself an alter ego? That was, probably, about number two or three on his list of dumb things to do. Right under running away and train surfing. _

_ The problem was the guilt. _

_ It wasn't some all-consuming fire. It wasn't this overpowering vice or some dark, broody cloud above his head - it was a cage of translucent uranium. No way to slip between the bars, no way to punch his way out; just a keyhole with no key present and everyone he cared about judging his failures. His fuck-ups. The longer he was stuck in there, the more he mutated, and the less he recognized himself - not that he even liked what he was becoming, that is. _

_ Peter felt a hand on his shoulder. His head snapped up to meet May's eyes. He promptly switched his focus to the door of the deli. _

_ "Do you want any gummy worms, Peter?" May asked him. Peter could hear her concerned, brave smile. He internally kicked himself. _

_ "No thanks," he answered quietly, swallowing thickly. _

_ He knew he had to do something. He was pretty sure he'd internally implode if he stayed like this much longer. And if he pulled a stunt, or May was there to see it, Peter knew she'd sell her soul to ensure that he was talking to a professional. To make sure that he was okay. _

_ He didn't deserve her. Or Ned. _

_ … But there wasn't anything to say he couldn't redeem himself, was there?_


	11. Chapter 11

** Wanda scrambled **to the left, as a plastic shield whistled over her head. She made sure to dodge right as she recovered her footing, so the shield wouldn't get her in the back. She ducked under another shield, forced to dive to the left as it came back around the Steve.

Wanda didn't like this exercise. She knew why she had to do it - her powers wouldn't necessarily be reliable, and even with the close quarters training (and bruises, oh so many bruises) she received from Natasha, she had to learn how to close distance. She'd picked up on the basics from both Strucker's men and the Avengers' lessons, but she was always facing inferior opponents. And while she hadn't had the chance to kick Rumlow into last week yet, she wanted to be sure that, all else failing, she'd be able to get close enough to personally kick in his nose.

Wanda jumped over a shield that came hurtling toward her midsection and hit the ground in a roll, feeling the concrete scrape against her skin as she did. She was perhaps fifteen feet away from Steve, and the sun was in her eyes. Wanda kicked herself to her feet and twisted right, just as the shield Steve had just thrown missed her by the arm hairs. Wanda knew she couldn't pay that any mind, though, and pushed her protesting limbs forward. In two seconds Steve sent her a fourth shield, which Wanda also dodged, darting to the right and left in a zig-zag.

She'd closed to fifteen feet when, on instinct, she spun on her heel and thrust out her hands, catching the last shield Steve threw mere inches from her back. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and everything had been heartily exhausted by the drill, but Wanda was unable to keep a sigh of relief in. The feeling of her magic was like a stabilizing weight, and one that felt long overdue.

However, Wanda quickly realized what she'd just done, and her expression fell into a frown. She let the shield go and watched it clatter to the ground, turning around to face Steve, dimmed significantly.

"You got farther this time," Steve said, "How're you holding up?"

Wanda shrugged, and her shoulders complained. "Alright."

"You shouldn't've used your magic," Steve told her, "You can't learn like that."

"I know," Wanda forced her face into neutral ground. "I just… it was an instinct."

Steve was quiet for a moment, before he said, "Nice instinct. It doesn't apply here, though."

Wanda nodded, bristling only a little bit. She hoped Steve didn't see it. "Yes."

"I think I'll call it here," Steve put his hands on his hips, leaning back a bit, shooting Wanda a thin smile. "You're really improving."

"Are you tired?" Wanda asked, incredulous. Steve's smile got a bit more solid.

"Nope. If it makes you feel better, though…"

Wanda shook her head, fighting a small grin of her own. She failed miserably, she and Steve began collecting the shields he'd thrown (Wanda counted about twenty-three or twenty-four in total, one higher than the number he'd used the last time she did this) the intercoms lit up.

_"Hey, this is your principle. Will all of the Avengers meet me in the conference room? We need to talk about your behavior at the last assembly."_

Wanda rolled her eyes, wiping some sweat off her brow. She place the shields she'd collected into their box with a resounding clatter, just as Steve approached holding every other shield left in his arms. Wanda gave way to him, watching him put them away with a face walking the wire between angered and aggrieved. She shook her head as Steve turned around, asking, "You sure you're okay?"

Wanda held her paranoia at bay with another shake of her head and a small chuckle. "I'm fine."

"Alright," Steve stretched, and the sight of added another drop of gasoline to the unruly emotions roughhousing in her gut. "Let's see what Tony wants."

Wanda nodded. She and Steve fell into step, his stride just a bit longer than hers. Wanda made vain attempts to push sweaty locks of her hair back to their proper places, silently cursing herself for forgetting to use a hair tie (she'd set her alarm last night, she'd been sure!). She tried to focus on the present, prepare herself - she knew they were going to make a move against Rumlow soon, and this was probably the calm before the storm.

Wanda rubbed her eyes, yawning as she and Steve turned the corner to the conference room. Tony was seated at the head of the table, staring intently at his lap, tapping away at one of his phones. He had too many, in Wanda's opinion, but that wasn't anywhere meaningful. Sam was three seats from Tony, on the right side of the table, and he gave both her and his friend a small grin. Rhodey was opposite of Sam, and frowning at Tony as if he'd had forgotten to use his litterbox again.

"Hey," Sam said, "Is that some sweat I see?"

Steve shook his head, "Nope."

"You can admit when you get tired, y'know," Sam leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. "Pride is a sin, remember?"

"Hilarious." Steve deadpanned, moving to sit down next to his friend. Wanda hesitated for just a moment, before choosing a seat one down from Rhodey's. She made another sweep of the room, asking suspiciously, "Where's Vision? Natasha?"

Sam gave her a shrug. "Dunno. Vision's…" he trailed off, then turned to Tony. "Where is Vision?"

Tony, at last, looked up from his phone. The screen dimmed as he replied. "In my lab. He said that he wanted to test something, but he wouldn't tell me what." Briefly, Tony's gaze met Wanda's, and the young woman did her best to hide the worry beginning to bloom in her expression. "We can survive one meeting without him."

"You're sure?" Steve leaned forward, his lips pursed.

Tony snorted. "Geez, Rogers. I'm not that crazy. Neither is Vision, for that matter. At the very least, trust him."

Steve nodded slowly, but his jaw remained stiff. "Right. Sorry."

"Water under the iron-bridge," Tony waved his free hand while Rhodey rolled his eyes, "As for Nat, I've got no location. She left a few hours ago for some reason, and she won't pick up my calls."

Steve cocked a brow. "Have you tried your satellites?"

Tony returned Steve's gesture. "Would you seriously do that, Rogers?" Steve didn't respond immediately, and Tony sighed. "I'm not ticking her off, Steve. I'm sure she'll be fine."

"She should've told us she left," Steve said. Tony shrugged, Rhodey nodded, Sam shook his head, and Wanda kept still. Why did Natasha leave? What could possibly have drawn her away? Intelligence? It wouldn't be like her to go out on her own. They were a team. That's what she had drilled into Wanda from day one. She had joined a team. Now, Wanda hardly feared for the woman's life, but…

"Whatever the case may be," Tony straightened his shoulders and slid his phone into his pocket, "She isn't here. You can go sesame street on her later, Cap." Steve inclined his head, but his frown persisted.

Tony rose from his seat and snapped his fingers. The lights dimmed, and a blue hologram rose from the center of the table. There was an image on it: a boy who looked to be about thirteen by Wanda's reckoning, with a small nose and curly brown hair. He was smiling widely as a boy in the background with black hair held up a LEGO set - number 75094. There were large bags under the brunette's eyes, and upon closer inspection, something felt off about it. Wanda prepped herself to hear a tragedy as Tony rubbed his face.

"See that kid?" he pointed to the picture of the boy, "That's Peter Parker. Great Kid. Well, I'm pretty sure he is. He was orphaned at four," Tony paused minutely, "moved in with his aunt, and lost his uncle about six months ago." The picture of Peter disappeared as Tony straightened himself, folding his hands behind his back and raising his chin.

What replaced the picture was a black and white security footage. The boy was shorter this time. His clothes were looser, and his clothes had a good few centimeters of breathing room. His shoulders were hunched and his steps were furtive as he walked down an empty hallway with ocean gray walls, eventually coming to a stop before a door at the end of it. He wiped his hands against his hoodie, which had the outline of some type of circular space-ship. After a few seconds of hesitation, he reached out to touch the door, twisting the knob as if it were a stick of dynamite.

Wanda cast a quick gaze around the room. She saw Steve cross his arms in his chair, his brow scrunched to a considerable degree. Sam was frowning, and Rhodey's jaw was stiff. His eyes kept flicking over to Tony, who didn't seem to be watching the footage, despite standing directly across from it.

The footage changed to a different camera, inside the room Peter had just entered. The place was devoid of people, but was filled to the brim with glass cages which, after a bit of squinting, Wanda realized were full of spiders. Not a second later, her eyes grew wide.

She sucked in a breath as Peter was bitten by one of the spiders, and promptly hightailed it right out of the room. The camera footage was exchanged for a picture of a teenager in an alleyway, bent over a dumpster. The edge was pressing into their stomach, but he didn't seem to mind. A backpack lay next to his feet, looking nearly filled to bursting. They bent themselves even farther, to the point that Wanda almost cringed, until they came up holding two smartphones. They sighed as they placed the phones in the backpack, and they sprinted out of the alleyway.

Tony clapped his hands as the footage ended. The lights came on, harsh LEDs that struck Wanda as somewhat out of place. Tony dug his hands into his pockets and said, "Tough crowd."

"Tony." Steve shook his head. "Do you know what you're implying? How long have you known this?"

"Fourteen? No, thirteen. Thirteen hours." Tony shrugged, "Did you know he almost convinced his Aunt to take him to Mood to get the fabric for his supersuit?"

Sam snorted, but he didn't appear even the remotest bit amused. "Stark, if you're right about this-"

"-I am-"

"-then what do you plan to do about him?"

Steve nodded his approval. "I agree with Sam." Tony rolled his eyes, "Why didn't you tell us this when you figured it out, Tony? Weren't you already investigating Spider-Man?"

"Okay, first of all, it was two AM," Tony paced towards Rhodey, "And secondly, it was never a real investigation. It was a side project."

"That kept you up till two AM, Tony?"

"I didn't suspect the kid until I started searching for Rumlow's weapons," Tony's expression turned grave, "By the way, he has one of those, too."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "And you tell us this now?"

"I needed time to process," Tony defended, "I knew dropping this in the middle of the night wouldn't be a good idea."

"This is a child we're talking about," Steve stood up, "I would've gladly woken up to get him and his aunt to safety. You know that, Tony."

"And what happens if we did that, huh?" Tony returned Steve's scowl, "Lock the kid up? He has powers, Rogers. Any normal person swinging around like he does would dislocate their shoulder in five seconds. All it would take is one wrong word and for all we know he could start shooting lazers out of his eyes."

"So you don't even know what his powers are?" Steve frowned.

Tony snorted. "No, Rogers, as a matter of fact, I don't. No blood sample at hand, y'know. Just YouTube videos and some interviews from the people he's saved - from Buzzfeed."

"Tony," Steve sighed, "Every second we debate this, _he and his entire family are in danger._"

Tony rubbed his temple. "I know that, Rogers."

"We're a team, Tony," Steve said, "Teams share." Tony gave him a flat look, to which Steve spun on his heel and began making his way to the door.

"Yeah, well, if you go charging into that kid's life, what'll happen to his friends? Neighbors? Are we gonna detain them?" Tony leaned forward, glaring at the Captain's back. "Think, Rogers! If you take that kid, do you think Rumlow won't notice? It'll look pretty suspicious, don't you think, when Spider-Man disappears?"

Steve was halfway to the door when he stopped. By the time he he'd turned back to Tony, his scowl had etched itself deeply into his eyes. Wanda shared a brief glance with Sam. "I can do incognito, Tony. The longer he has that weapon, the more chances we give Rumlow to hurt him."

"Do you know how much money Hammer still has? How many contracts HI still has with the military?" Tony's brow furrowed even farther. Sam and Rhodey moved to stand, with Wanda copying their movements but a few moments later. "Even if you pull that off, even if I erase all security footage with you in it-"

Steve scoffed. "SHIELD couldn't find me and Sam when we were on the run until the Winter Soldier got involved. The longer the kid has that weapon, the more chances we give to Rumlow to find him."

Wanda closed her eyes, taking in a languid breath as Tony spat, "You had Natasha with you then, Rogers. And SHIELD still found you, by-the-by."

"That _child_ is still in danger!" Steve's scowl morphed into a glare as he threw up his hands, "I heard about Spider-Man taking that thug's weapon last week. We all did. I know there are risks, Tony, but we can't hope for luck to keep him safe!"

Tony huffed. "Of course we can't, Rogers. Luck isn't a thing." Steve rolled his eyes, but Tony continued, "Look, just - for the love of God, let us at least plan this out. We have to be careful."

Steve held Tony's gaze for a moment. Wanda felt like she was watching a dam slowly leak water as the river it was holding back overflowed. She, Sam, and Rhodey formed a pincer around Steve and Tony.

"Cap," Rhodey said slowly, "I hate to admit it, but Tony's right. We can't underestimate Rumlow or Hammer." Rhodey tossed a glance to Wanda and Sam, both of whom gave minute nods. "Now can we all sit down? Please?"

Steve looked to Sam, who shook his head. He then turned his gaze on Wanda, who did the same. Exasperation crept into her expression, however, she wasn't sure if it was directed at Steve, Tony, or the world. Perhaps all three?

Steve rolled his shoulders and closed his eyes, before shaking his head. The air hit Wanda like an unwelcome early spring breeze.

"Fine." he rubbed his temples, "But if we're doing this with everyone, that includes Natasha."

For a moment, Wanda thought Tony might belabour that point too - the look in his eyes wasn't something she trusted whatsoever - but he relented. "Fine."

Everyone moved to sit down, and Wanda's exasperation sunk in just a little deeper with every minute that passed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Trigger Warning: Violence against minors. You'll hate me for it, but please, R and R! This story is going (pun-intended) far better than I ever expected! You guys and gals are awesome! **

* * *

**Okay, just… **hear him out. He knew this was beyond weird.

The thought had come to him sarcastically. Like "Heh, yeah! I'll make a paper mache copy of myself! Perfect!" For a moment, he'd snorted, but as he laid down to go to sleep… well, he considered his options.

Peter scowled as he turned into the alley, eyeing a turned-over dumpster. This was how he was spending his Sunday. The sky was drearily overcast, threatening rain Peter didn't have the bandwidth for.

May was serious about the curfew. He had to be back home in thirty minutes or else she'd be on him like white on rice. And while, sure, he could just accept the limited time, Peter also knew that if criminals started to see a pattern, the best case scenario would be that they'd start doing stuff after he had to pack it in. Worst case? Someone would use it to track him down personally, let alone May, and if she...

_Focus, Peter. _

Peter sighed as he collected newspapers from a dumpster, pulling the hood of his hoodie tighter over his head. It chafed against his ears unpleasantly, but Peter knew he had to keep this as discreet as possible. As he shuffled out of the alley, stuffing old issues of the _Times _into his poor, worn-out backpack, his mind briefly called back to the moment he found those abandoned iphones, during the weeks he spent making his suit.

He'd hit a wall; the world was difficult enough to balance without them on, and Peter knew that if he didn't want to become a sidewalk speed bump, he had to have something to help him focus. Normal goggles' lenses wouldn't work, because he saw too much light for their them to be that effective, and hard plastic could make him Ralphie in _A Christmas Story _if things (or he himself) went south. He also wanted to be able to see where he was going from the rooftops, and even his new enhanced vision wasn't that good.

Finding those old iphones, though? Best day of his life. He had been so giddy that he almost forgot to raise his hood to hide his identity - until he remembered the lights of the convenience store, and that sunny morning in the kitchen, causing Peter schooled his features before setting off home.

Peter shrugged the memory off as he exited the alleyway, on the ground this time, diving his hand into the right pocket of his sweats, curling his fingers around the five and three other ones stored there. He'd decided earlier that day, despite the lack of money he'd have for the rest of the week, that he'd spend his allowance on getting himself a snack at Delmar's after he'd gathered the stuff for his own head. The body pillow… that'd come later. He still had some birthday money leftover, that was just enough to afford one his size, if he made it to the sale at the shop selling them. The sale was going on until the next Monday, so Peter knew he had time for once. And building up some good faith that he was obeying the curfew, no matter how little it was, would help him in the long run.

(_This was normal. This was fine.)_

Peter's mouth curled upward just a little bit as he entered Delmar's, despite the exhaustion creeping up on him. The space was crowded and sorta cramped, but was the nice cramped; he was used to the slightly ramshackle appearance of everything. It was familiar. Stable. The central heating was nice too.

There was a short line in front of the register, three people long, but Peter didn't mind over much. He entertained, as he had many a time, the idea of getting something different than his usual two bags of gummy worms and number five, but he found that the idea crossed his mind for only the barest moment. He carefully took the gummy worms from the bag as the guy at the front of the line stumbled over his order. Peter was pretty sure the guy had switched languages two times before ordering a number two.

He tapped his foot against the floor as he waited, hands stuffed firmly into his pockets, tossing the occasional glance at his backpack, half-paranoid that the thing would rip open at any moment. When the line moved forward, Peter had his foot halfway prepared to to take a step forward, until the back of his head exploded with his sixth sense. Peter abruptly turned on his heel, to find himself face-to-face with a masked man in jeans and hoodie, carrying a pistol in his right hand.

Peter should've done something. Socked him in the gut. Knocked him flat on his ass and sent him flying back into his tweens. But he didn't.

Fluorescent lights. A sunset at its twilight, pouring purple-orange light through the glass door of the convenience store. The clerk wouldn't give Peter his gummy worms, even though it was just three cents of separating him from his sugary reward.

He'd spent the past two weeks in bed, with a burning fever the likes of which neither May or Ben had ever seen, in horrible pain. When the pain would subside, he'd be left with all of his muscles aching horribly. By the time the fever had passed, he'd been pulled from school for the next week - a week that was ending tomorrow, and Peter wanted some sugary junk food before school bared down on him.

"Please," he pleaded, "Sir, I've just had the worst fever of my life and-"

"Kid," the clerk answered tiredly. "I'm sorry. You're three cents off. Probably more if I include tax. You can live without candy."

Peter pouted. Part of him - a really, really stupid part - wanted to cry in frustration. He glared at the clerk for a few more moments, before throwing his hands in the air. "Fine!"

He collected the gummy worms and stomped back to where the rest of their sweet sweet bretheren were held, stopping dead in his tracks when the entire aisle next to him shook so hard several bags of cheetos came tumbling to the ground.

The clerk blinked at him, utterly confounded. Peter stared at the snacks now resting on the ground, his anger giving way to fear. He'd already managed to dent the bathtub when he tripped in it during his shower today, and this…

BANG.

The door to the convenience store was thrown open, and a masked man in a hoodie and jeans ran in, shoving a pistol in the face of the clerk. "Everybody down! Anyone makes any noise and I shoot!"

Peter's head had snapped over to the direction of the door a second before it was thrown open, and the sound of the knob slamming against the convenience store windows made him wince. His heart thudded in his chest, dull and fast.

_Ba-bump. _

"Empty the register!" the masked man demanded gruffly. "And don't even think about calling the cops!"

The masked man hadn't seen Peter yet. He was so focused on the clerk - or the register, maybe - that he didn't notice the frozen teenager just feet away from him.

_Ba-bump. _

Peter swallowed, his gaze falling to his hands. He could beat this guy. He was sure of it. He could probably kill him if he hit hard enough. But the man had a gun. A very loaded, very dangerous gun that could kill him long before he even got a chance to try his hand at playing Captain America.

_Ba-bump. _

Peter ran. He spun on his heel and rocketed around the aisle, passing another by the time the robber noticed. He heard the man shout something, but Peter's only goal was the door.

BANG.

The bullet ricocheted off of a piece of wall far too close for Peter's comfort, ricocheting so badly that it knocked out on of the flourescent lights, but by the point, Peter had already thrown himself at the door.

Peter was snapped back to the present when the masked man grabbed him roughly by the neck. He felt something sharp pierce his skin as cold metal was pressed into his forehead, making him wince, as the other customers and Mr. Delmar put their hands up.

"Hey! I don't want any trouble!" Mr. Delmar said, "You want my money? You can have it!"

The masked man growled lowly, "Any of you says a thing, and you're dead."

His accent wasn't American. Peter could hear it. He enunciated a tad too clearly for it to be normal. Peter wasn't overly concerned about it if he was honest, as his main focus was gettin free without getting killed.

_Breathe, Parker. Breathe. _

In, out. In, out. Mr. Delmar threw open the register and retrieved all the money inside, as Peter closed his eyes. In, out. The other customers had their hands up. People were starting to stare from outside the deli. Some were on their phones, but they all kept a good space between them and the robber. Peter swallowed.

In, out.

He ducked his head while he elbowed the man in the stomach. Peter stumbled forward when the criminal's grip slackened on his neck, met not a moment later with a kick to the back of his head that sent him careening to the ground. Peter rolled over and scrambled back onto his feet, regaining balance just as the robber hurtled out of the deli at a full sprint. There were police sirens blaring in the distance.

Peter didn't waste a moment, running after the would-be thief, abandoning his backpack and gummy worms. He heard cries from Mr. Delmar and the crowd as chased after the masked man, which he paid little heed to.

Peter quickly gained ground on the robber, perhaps just a step away when the man turned sharply on his heel and spun back around to face him. Peter realized a moment too late what was about to happen.

BANG.

Peter was sent tumbling back to the pavement, as if he'd just been sucker-punched. People screamed as he fell. People were freaking out, but Peter wasn't really paying attention, instead consumed by an intense, numb realization.

He'd been _shot. _


	13. Chapter 13

**Trigger Warning for blood and the aftereffects of a gunshot. I don't go into gory details, but I don't make it pretty either. It also isn't the entirety of this chapter - you can scroll down to the next line break to get the rest of this chapter. Thank you guys so much for your support, all the love! **

* * *

**Instantly, Peter's** vision blurred. A buzz picked up in his ears, which was weird, because the police sirens were only getting closer. There was a pulsating pain somewhere around his lower abdomen, all-consuming to the point that Peter almost forgot about his attacker.

Almost.

This guy couldn't get away. Peter didn't know what had pierced his neck, but he was certain nothing good would come of it. He tried to sit up, and was met with pain like he'd been doused in kerosene and tossed into a lit fireplace. He shut his eyes, gritting his teeth, the gasps of the crowd just audible over the noise. He saw some people try and chase after the robber, and felt a prick of panic.

No. They couldn't go. He couldn't _let _them go. If they got hurt-

Peter felt water around his eyes and hands pushing him back to the ground. A young couple was trying to hold him down, and if hadn't been for the-

CRACK.

More screaming. People were either hysterical or stunned into horrified silence. Red and blue light began to wash over his feet, faint. Peter didn't care.

He growled, pushing out of the grip of the young couple, forcing himself to start standing despite utter agony lighting up his nerves. This guy couldn't get away. He'd gotten someone shot again. If someone died tonight-

_Come on, Spider-man. _

Peter was two-thirds of the way to his feet when it became too much. The pain had transcended pain - it was a monster, ripping into him with talons the length of his forearm. He felt something coming up his throat, slick and warm. Crimson was silently pooling around him as he lost balance, falling back right as he vomited.

Most of the vomit hit the pavement. The bits that didn't landed right back on him, disgusting and lumpy. Peter shut his eyes again, grinding his teeth together to the point that he was pretty sure he'd cracked at least a few of them.

"Jesus christ!" the voice that shouted was male. Commanding, yet not cold. "Get out of the way, people!"

A firm hand rested against his right shoulder. A face hovered above his, a man just entering his twilight years who'd forgotten to shave that morning. Peter's throat was dry, and when he tried to speak, he emitted nothing but incoherent, guttural moans.

"You're gonna be okay kiddo," the man said, surprisingly gentle. "You're gonna be okay, alright? I'm Jefferson Davis, NYPD."

Peter couldn't even find it in himself to nod. He gave it the old college try, which he sincerely hoped was enough. He shut his eyes a third time, feeling like he was about to cry. He wasn't able to.

"What's your name?" Officer Davis asked.

Peter opened his mouth, but the pain from his wound was growing. The only thought going through his head was that had been _shot. _Shot like soap-opera _shot. _Shot like-

Peter stared up at Officer Davis, truly looking through the man's head if he was honest, overcome with panic and old grief. He would've gawked, but his jaw refused to move whatsoever. His heartbeat was a dull _thud, _and he hoped he wasn't noticing it, but he was noticing that his ears were ringing - and the ringing was getting louder.

Was this karma? The universe telling him that he'd failed? That he hadn't done enough?

"Okay," Officer Davis said, "It's okay, buddy. You'll be fine." He pressed a button on the walkie-talkie on his shoulder, "This officer Davis, I've got a 10-34 SW, and a teenage male who's been shot. I need an ambulance, now!"

Peter had tried his best; three weeks making the suit and learning about his powers; another two weeks of mastering his webshooters before he even let himself within three feet of anyone; logging dozens of hours as Spider-man; fifty-two muggings and assaults stopped; fifteen robbers saved; thirteen kids rescued from a burning apartment complex; he'd even saved Flash fucking Thompson from getting hit by a car.

But it still wasn't enough - _he _wasn't enough. Peter Parker was still the coward who didn't take action when he should've. Who killed his own uncle. Who couldn't do anything without being a total klutz until he got super powers. Spider-Man was a fallacy. A fraud; an empty shell, because the person under the mask was Peter Parker, who didn't deserve his best friend or the one remaining family member he had left.

_May. _

The thought was harder to form than it should've been. Peter's vision had blurred to the point that even Officer Davis, who was applying pressure to his wound, wasn't in focus. Peter could feel the blood - _his _blood - pooling underneath him, damp and terrifying.

_I'm sorry. _

* * *

_Peter couldn't move. _

_ This happened sometimes: he'd wake up and feel like someone had beaten him with a sledgehammer for seven and a half hours. It had gotten old a long, long two months ago. _

_ It was worse than just being sore. It was a buildup of carbonic acid so intense that it every time he so much as twitched his body felt like it was struck with a whip. His muscles were tearing themselves apart constantly now, and usually it was fine, but sometimes? Sometimes it wasn't fine; he forgot to eat a protein bar before bed, or to pour himself an extra glass of milk with dinner. That was his theory, at least - Peter doubted he'd know for years, at a minimum, assuming he managed to get himself to a place where he could run such a test. (In all honesty, he kinda hoped that he'd never learn the truth - it would probably mean someone found out about him.)_

_ Peter sighed, frustrated that he winced as he did. He hated when this happened; it was another reminder of how much he didn't understand about his life. Another small brick in a mural he had developed in his mind, that read: 'You have no idea what you're doing'. _

_ Heh. Here he was, trapped by the invisible weight of his own follies. Lord Bryon would be proud. Or was it Byron? That girl in English (Michaela? Melissa?) had said Byron, right? _

_ Peter nearly made the mistake of laughing. He didn't, however: his life wasn't funny anymore. He could come up with all the quips and references to _Doctor Who _that he wanted, but it wouldn't change the facts: he, Peter Parker, had killed his uncle. _

_ It had struck him during the first terrifying instance that perhaps this was his penance. To be eternally guilty, trying to make up for his own cowardice, with powers that simultaneously tortured him and allowed him to make up for his failings._

_ Peter didn't know. He did know that this sucked, though, and that he probably needed to get up soon. His stomach had been a lot more demanding as of late._

_ With a grunt, he sat up, biting his lip to the point that when he rubbed the tiredness from his eyes, his wrists had picked up a small splotch of crimson. Peter's eyes widened before he scowled, focring himself to his feet, grabbing a tissue from the box on his desk, leftover from when his powers were first manifesting themselves, and May and Ben thought he'd caught the flu. He wiped the blood off of his wrists, only able to appreciate the light streaming into his bedroom through his window by half. He threw the tissues with blood into the trash bin next to his desk, wrapping it in two more just to be safe. _

_ Peter knew that May had already left for work. By his reckoning it was nine already, leaving (roughly) seven hours and fifteen minutes(ish) where he was alone. It was an hour less than he could've gotten to himself, but life was like that sometimes. _

_ Okay, for him, it was like that a _lot, _but he had to stay focused. He'd lose one hour to meals and personal hygene if he was quick, but since he wouldn't be able to exercise at all, he could make up for it. Possibly, he could get more sewing done._

_ Peter stretched during his shower, feeling marginally less sore when he got out. He dried himself off and brushed his teeth, rinsing with mouthwash at record speed, and he made the mistake of bending over to spit out the mouthwash in the sink. As he bent back to proper posture, his back felt like someone had set it on fire, and he tumbled toward the door for support. Peter grit his teeth as the pain slowly subsided, eyes narrowed. _

_ His breakfast consisted of four eggo waffles and two apples. Peter listlessly watched _Crash Course World History _while eating the apple, providing himself the flimsy pretense that it was for AP world history next year. In any case, it proved itself a poor stimulant in comparison to the aching all over his body. _

_ Peter wolfed down the waffles and briefly considered his options, idly watching a spider dangle from the ceiling. The little guy was barely the size of Peter's thumbnail, but it was descending its web like a pro. There was a simplicity to its movements, and frankly, it entertained Peter more than sewing his vigilant suit ever would (it also wouldn't make him poke himself), and as it stopped its descent, Peter felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. _

Where r u?

_ Ned. Right. _

_ He was supposed to meet with Ned today. They were gonna visit the LEGO store at Rockefeller Square, per their end-of-school tradition. Normally, it was a highlight of early summer. But this wasn't normal. Peter wasn't normal anymore. _

Can't. Something came up, Sry.

_ Peter sent the text and held his breath. If he was lucky, Ned would take his vague statement at face value. If he wasn't, well… he'd come up with something. Even if it meant hurting his friend's feelings. He had responsibilities, after all._

Ok.

_Peter let out his breath, shooting his friend a "thanks" before turning his phone off. He put his dishes in the sink and rinsed, then made his way back into his room. He plopped down in his chair, opening his laptop. The thing was one of his father's ancient prototypes, nicknamed "Karen", after the head of the project. She was modified to a ludicrous degree by Peter over the years. It could barely run a youtube video at 480p, but he would be lying if he said that he wasn't proud of the old girl. He'd practically built her from scratch over the years, and he hoped that he'd be able to do the same thing once more. _

_ Four hours flew by in a flurry of self-defense videos and basic sewing tutorials that felt like they were melting Peter's brain and stressing him out at the same time. By the end, though, he was a bit more confident in his knowledge of the technique. Maybe next time he wouldn't break one of May's needles in the process._

_Peter threw a lunch together out of leftover potato salad and broccoli. He ate the food cold, despite the general icky-ness of the potato salad and the soggy state of the broccoli. He noticed that the spider was still struggling to reach the floor halfway into the broccoli, and was hit with a twinge of sympathy. _

_The spider was swaying in the air now, propelled by the AC, dangling percariously above the stove. Peter's eyes followed it raptly as the arachnid jumped from its web, landing on the floor and skittering up the dishwasher. Peter made a move to get up, but thankfully, the spider wasn't totally evil. It fled into a crack in the wall in the far left corner of the kitchenette, sparing Peter the duty of disposing of it. _

_Peter felt a small bit of amusement tugging at his sleeve. That thing had its stuff figured out: swinging from webs, jumping incredible distances (for its size), and climbing up walls? Peter had clandestinely thought that kinda stuff was cool, no matter how creepy spiders looked. _

_Wait-_

* * *

**I hope I got the depiction of the gunshot right - and those police radio codes too. Feel free to correct me! Thank you for reading! **


	14. Chapter 14

** Night had **fallen by the time Natasha exited the bunker. The file was held in her left hand, her a pair of night vision goggles in her right. She pulled them over her eyes, retrieving her pistol as soon as they she could see, ready to shoot any and all threats on sight. She hadn't come all this way for nothing.

The trek back to the car was boring. She maintained her vigilance, of course, but it was harder than it should've been; her mind kept drifting back to the manila folder she held, as if it were a bomb instead of shredded timber. The folder was much too smooth for her liking - to banal in appearance in comparison to what it held.

The camaro was where she left it. She hopped in as quickly as she could, depositing the backpack into the trunk once the goggles were off and inside. She kept her movements economical: in the minute and a half that it took for her to get situated in the front seat of the camaro and start the car, his face had flashed across her mind's eye five times.

The folder went in the glove compartment, hidden under a fashion magazine. Natasha had initially planted it there for times when she went undercover and had to use the camaro, but very rarely, she had genuinely read it. Now, she had the nagging suspicion that part of her would never be able to look at it the same again. That she'd never be able to look at this car the same again.

She forced the thought back and focused on driving, turning on the burner phone and placing a call for Steve. It was eight o'clock on a Sunday, meaning that he would just be beginning his evening workout. She called his contact and set the phone to speaker as her low-beams cut into the darkness, appearing petty against the overwhelming amount night. Natasha pulled onto the road, driving a bit slower than she usually did, just in case.

Steve picked up almost immediately, his voice sounding stern and concerned even through the poor speakers of the burner phone.

"_Natasha? Where have you been?" _

"Running an errand." Natahsa replied smoothly, turning left, "How're things with the missus?"

"_Not the time, Nat."_

"What's gone wrong now?" Natasha raised a brow as her turn signal deactivated, the green light blinking out slowly as dirt was sent up by her rubber.

"_Spider-man. He's a kid named Peter Parker."_

Natasha didn't respond immediately. The world around her seemed to slow, and adrenaline began to kick in. The camaro's heated seats suddenly felt far more like the creature comforts they were than simply an aspect of the vehicle. A doe came wandering out from the thick of the trees, peering at her car warily, its hind legs tensed. She put on the brakes, activating her hazards on mechanical instinct, before she schooled her features.

"_Nat?"_

"Sorry," Natasha said, "Had to stop for a deer."

Thankfully, the doe had the common sense to make a break for it. Natasha revving up the engine might've had something to do with it. She quite honestly didn't care. As she started to drive again, she asked, "So who is this Peter Parker?"

"_He's fourteen. Lost his parents when he was four." _Natasha heard a sigh from Steve's end. _"Tony thinks he got his powers on some field trip to Oscorp. Apparently Norman Osborn was trying to make people supersoldiers - I dunno." _Natasha could hear Steve rubbing his temple. _"The kid lost his uncle a few months back."_

The implication in Steve's tone was clear enough for Natasha to discern the meaning, even though she had come to the same conclusion moments before. "So the kid's running on a guilt complex."

"_That's one way to put it," _Steve grunted, _"Tony wants to give the kid a personal visit. He loves Iron Man, apparently."_

"You don't sound too pleased with him." Natasha observed, not necessarily thankful to lose the noise that came with driving on dirt. She wasn't out of the woods yet, and they seemed as the trees grown about ten feet.

"_I know what Tony'll do," _Steve said, his voice growing quieter, _"He'll storm in and try and give the kid some speech. The kid'll be under his spell and then before we know it he's running away from us right into Rumlow's hands."_

"That's a bit pessimistic." Natasha frowned. Traffic joined the lonely road, each car loaded with people - with families. None of them had any idea who they were driving alongside.

"_And what happens after we take him here?" _Steve said, _"A child who chooses to make a super suit on his own-"_

"Won't be easily controlled." Natasha filled in. "Tell me Cap, why are you really against Tony seeing the kid?"

She didn't get a response immediately. When Steve did answer, it was even quieter than before, _"Tony made Ultron. A kid that smart isn't someone Tony'll let get away."_

Natasha shook her head. "You know exactly how Tony feels about Ultron, Steve."

"_I know."_

"You don't think Tony is a good role model for the kid." Natasha stated. "That's fine, Steve, but we need to do something before your catastrophization comes true."

"_Where are you, Nat?"_

"Deflecting won't stop my questions, Steve."

"_When do you think you'll get back, Nat?"_

"Steve."

"_Tony's waiting to make his move until you're here."_

"Steve."

"_Okay! Okay, you're right. I - I don't think Tony's a good role model for the kid. He's too reckless. When he thinks he's in the right-"_

"He won't stop until he does what he thinks he needs to do." Natasha said slowly.

"_Exactly. That's why I'm worried that if he thinks he's right about something with the kid, and he's not-"_

"Peter could get hurt." Natasha finished, turning right into the entrance to a gas station. The neon sign of the 7-11 stuck out garishly, flooding the front of her car with hashly colorful artificiality.

"_Are you agreeing with me?" _Steve asked.

"I'm prepping to mediate the oncoming catfight." Natasha said, "I'll pick this up in a few minutes. Gotta go to the restroom."

"_Alright."_

After she hung up, Natasha took a moment to close her eyes, purposefully looking away from the folder in the glovebox.

* * *

_Natalia remembered __them. _

_ They were a bright. Richard and Mary Parker were exceptional, even by SHIELD's standards; doctorates in both of their respective fields, an outstanding work ethic, and unceasing loyalty. Every summer, they participated in a program to clean up the Potomac; Mary did well over a hundred hours of volunteer work at Goodwill; Richard was part of his high school's PTA. Everything about them screamed decent. Far as SHIELD scientists went, they were some of the best. Natalia knew that they'd raise him right. _

_ And yet, on the few occasions she glimpsed them in the halls of the Tryskelion, she couldn't find it in herself to be satisfied. How did she know that they wouldn't make mistakes? They were only human after all, and he had the genes of the KGB's best, not to mention her own. Natalia was confident that he would be smart, a genius even, and that whatever life he lived, it would be successful - perhaps even disgustingly so. _

_But he also had the genetic makeup of two killers, trained and conditioned to feel as little as possible. For all she knew, he was a sociopath. What were two scientists, even SHIELD scientists, supposed to do against that? _

_Natalia had Fury's word that neither Richard or Mary would get any substantial details on his true origins, however, seeing them always made a part of her whisper that it wasn't enough. Richard and Mary couldn't ever be enough for him. For her. _

_The emotions went against every lesson she was taught. They flew in the face of the skills she had spent so long perfecting. Most saliently, the emotions slashed into her stringent self-control, forced it onto its backfoot. The emotions weren't something she was able to ignore or think her way around. They were… parental. _

_Richard and Mary Parker treated him right. For the first few years, Natalia kept tabs; he did well in pre-school, albeit he was notably reserved. Natalia knew Richard and Mary took him with them on several vacations. One took them along the European tourist circuit; another vacation brought them to Los Angeles; another brought the happy family Canada. Richard and Mary got him a spot at one of the best kindergartens in the DC area. As parents, they were practically perfect. _

_Natalia maintained the tabs until 2005. _

_She completed an assignment and got back to an apartment complex owned by SHIELD. Her unit was at the very top of the building, letting her look down at bustling streets of America's capital, even if she always kept the blinds shut at night. She was twenty-one. Young. Stable for the first time in years. She was halfway through making her dinner (roasted chicken with brown rice and steamed asparagus - she was about to start on the rice) when one of her burner phones began to ring. Natalia wasted no time in picking it up, even if she had hoped the night would be peaceful. _

"_Widow." Fury's said from the other end, "There's been an incident."_

"_Where?" Natalia asked sharply, turning off the stove. _

"_With Richard and Mary Parker. They're dead."_

_Natalia, for the first time, was stopped dead in her tracks. She recovered herself in less than a moment, however. "Okay."_

"_Okay?"_

"_What do you want me to say, Sir? You know what my answer was. It hasn't changed." Natalia kept her tone flat, yet still respectful. _

"_You're sure?" Surprise genuinely crept into Fury's voice. Natalia wasn't certain how she felt about that. _

"_Yes." Natalia said without hesitation. "I'm sure."_

"_Alright. We'll proceed with the plan then."_

_The call ended, and Natalia finished her dinner. It took three hours to fall asleep. _

_For the next two weeks, Natalia maintained business as usual. She didn't show any signs of what had happened. Even when she saw the grief in the eyes of Richard and Mary's (now) former colleagues, she gave nothing away. No sign. No-one could know. _

_She maintained the tabs. He moved in with Richard's brother, Ben Parker. She found herself staring at documents, newspaper clippings, photos - anything to satisfy the parental instincts. It made her feel as if she wasn't failing, in a petty way. _

_Then came another assignment. Important. Critical. A group of terrorists known as the Ten Rings were planning an operation in Sokovia, and Natalia was required to stop it. The Ten Rings wanted to incite violence by assassinating a leader of the communist party, and pin it on a small group of insurgents. Natalia stopped the sniper from firing, but got another scar for it: a through and through from a 7N1, only a few centimetres from her right lung. _

_In the moment just before she made her move against the sharpshooter, and through the entire way back to the rendezvous point, her mind conjured up images of him. The image of him being told of her death and not reacting whatsoever. His face when richard and Mary would take him out during their walks around the National Mall, or the footage from the Smithsonian Natural History Museum, where he pointed at the skeletons of dinosaurs and giggled. The lapse occurred for less than five seconds, but it was enough. _

_When she got back to her apartment unit, she ended the tabs. _


	15. Chapter 15

**Warning: All of the chapters before chapter 16 were pre-written, so expect production to slow. Apologies, thank you all so much! **

* * *

**Justin knew **something had gone very wrong for someone when Rumlow was smiling.

To be fair, Justin had been the first to reach out, but Rumlow still unnerved him; the man was calm and self-sacrificing, to the point that Justin was confident that he'd blow himself up if it helped to achieve his goals. However, Rumlow was also capable of fits of anger that intimidated even the harshest of his own men, and those gauntlets of his had wrecked many a punching bag in the various bunkers he squatted in.

Rumlow's teeth were a harsh white, with yellow clinging to the very bottom like lice. Sharply satisfied eyes met Justin's as he sat down across from him, settling into the leather-backed swivel chair as if he owned it. He wondered if Rumlow could ever realize how creepy he was.

Their conference room was rectangular, its walls and ceilings an oppressive beige. You wouldn't be able to tell that it was 9 PM on a Sunday from anything other than the retrofitted screens lining the walls; some showed the major news stations, others showed traffic camera footage near Avengers tower, while the remaining few were reserved for chatter between them and their allied cells around the world. All the screens were muted, though all were still running in full HD 1080p, while Rumlow stood at the end of it all. The wooden table between him and Rumlow was crowded with maps of the US, marked up in red ink, files on the Avengers, and a long-suffering coffee mug sat on Rumlow's end, lukewarm.

_Probably not, _Justin decided, raising an eyebrow at his partner before asking, "So… our spider problem?"

Rumlow didn't answer immediately. Instead, he barked out a laugh, throwing his head back slightly. "Solved."

"Oh?" Justin leaned forward, "And how did you solve it?"

Rumlow finally sat down, settling into a leather-backed swivel chair of his own, rolling his neck as he did. "Well, Mr. Hammer," his smile took on genuine amusement, "It turns out that Spider-_man_ is actually a goddamn teenager."

Justin's eyes widened. "What?"

Rumlow laughed again. "I know, right? I was ready to gear up for a war, but all I needed was a squad of my guys."

_Needed?_

"You just sent a squad after a kid?" Justin asked. Rumlow raised a brow, and Justin internally cursed. He hadn't meant to say that

"Uh-huh. He was moved into the ER today anyways because he got shot. Been scrambling police communications. My men are getting in position as we speak." Rumlow paused, "Is that a problem?"

Justin took a breath. "So you're just gonna shoot him in his hospital bed?"

"Second thoughts, Hammer?" Rumlow sounded incredulous, "You're not telling me prison actually reformed you?"

"I never needed reforming," Justin snapped. "But since I'm the one keeping this operation running, I'd've hoped for some heads-up."

Rumlow peered at him for a moment longer, before slowly nodding. "I suppose so. Sorry." his voice was curt. "I didn't want to take any chances with an enhanced, is all."

"Water under the bridge," Justin responded quickly, waving a hand, "But I don't think we should kill him."

"Oh?" Rumlow leaned forward, narrowing his eyes, "My guys are already casing his apartment complex."

Justin took another breath, his mind swirling.

Killing a kid… that was a line for him. If the news ever got out, and especially if they were beaten by the Avengers, Hammer Industries would never recover; such a public assassination would only provoke the Avengers further, even if it removed an enhanced from the board. Justin's employees could lose the chance to kill Tony Stark ever again, if he somehow managed to avoid the death penalty.

"I think we should recruit him," Justin told Rumlow slowly, "Or, I should. I offer the kid an internship at Hammer Industries, help him out with his night gig in tights."

Rumlow's face turned contemplative. "Keep your enemies closer."

"Exactly." Justin said, "If I can get the kid to trust me, we could use him. If need be, he'd at least make good bait for a trap. You know the Avengers would come for him if we threatened the kid's life."

Justin took in a third, tense breath as Rumlow's brow furrowed.

"Maybe," Rumlow conceded, "That's not a bad idea, Hammer. I'll see if I can't get someone to change his IV."

"Thanks." Justin leaned back in his seat, eyes flickering around him for a moment, "Do you have much on the kid? Before he was put in the ER? Do we have anything on the suspect?"

"The police lost the suspect." Rumlow reached into the pile of folders, withdrawn one that appeared marginally more maintained than the others. He slid it across the table, and Justin opened it.

Peter Benjamin Parker. Freshman at Midtown High. Consistent 4.0 all throughout middle school, al honors courses. Lost his parents at four, then moved in with his Aunt and Uncle. His uncle was killed six months ago trying to catch a robber. A month and a half later, the first sighting of spider-man was posted to Youtube.

When Justin closed the folder, he let out a breath. "Well then."

Rumlow turned on his ear piece and bark at his men not to fire on the kid. When his eyes met Justin's they were gleaming. Justin's face had fallen into a frown. Rumlow was opening his mouth to speak when the lock of the conference room door _clicked. _

Justin immediately got out of his seat and retreated from the door. Rumlow drew and cocked his pistol in less than five seconds.

The door opened slowly, revealing a man wearing blue jeans and a sweatshirt, holding an AR-15.. His eyes were even worse than Rumlow's; a cloudy grey, the kind that threatens a storm constantly. His expression had the tiniest hint of boredom, behind a quiet, stern conviction.

"I don't come in violence." the man stated.

"How the hell did you get in here?" Rumlow growled, flicking on the laser sight of his pistol. The red dot settled right in the middle of the intruder's forehead.

"I killed your men." the stranger responded, "Your weapons are very high-quality, Mr. Hammer."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Rumlow demanded, "Tell my why I shouldn't kill you right here, right now."

"My name is Zemo," the man said, slowly setting his weapon down at his feet. "And I want what you want."

"There are plenty of people out there who want the Avengers dead," Rumlow spat, "And plenty who haven't killed my men."

"I'm sure there are," Zemo (Seriously? Zemo?), "but I doubt they have access to what I do."

"And that would be?" Rumlow's voice was low. Justin feared that the man would fire before they could figure out who the hell this "Zemo" really was. And considering the rifle in Zemo's hands, he would've much preferred to not suffer that timeline. Both men paid rapt attention as Zemo reached inside one of the pockets of his jeans, withdrawing a flash drive… and a syringe.

"Who the hell are you?" Justin glared at him. Zemo didn't seem phased whatsoever about the gen leveled at his head, nor by Justin's words.

"This contains Spider-man's blood." Zemo said, "The flash drive contains decrypted SHIELD files which I think you will take great interest in."

"You shot Peter Parker," Rumlow said, "For what? What makes you think we don't just kill you and take your little gifts anyways?"

Zemo, again, showed no visible reaction. "What makes you think you can kill me?"

The temperature seemed up drop a few degrees and the tension skyrocketed - at least to Justin. Rumlow's aim at Zemo remained steady for quite possibly the longest thirty seconds of Justin's life, before, the man nodded, his jaw set and scowl dangerously grudging. "What do you really want?"

Zemo's expression remained a steady, terrifying flat. "I already told you, gentlemen. I want the Avengers to fall."

Justin inclined his head, a bit too enthusiastic. He didn't much care. "Well then," Rumlow's glower turned his way, but Justin brushed it off as best he could. "Let's all put down our weapons and see what you've got."

Rumlow grunted, holding up his gun for yet another few moments before he finally lowered it. His finger moved to rest a few centimetres above the trigger. There was no _click_ to signify the safety being turned on.

Zemo set the flash drive and syringe on New Jersey. "In 1998 the FSB obtained a frozen bag of Steve Rogers' blood left over from the second world war." Zemo set the AR-15 on the table as well, thank God. "In 1999 it was used in a program entitled 'Herakles'."

Rumlow warily put his pistol back in its thigh holster, crossing his arms. Justin moved to sit down in one of the conference chairs, motioning for the other men to do the same. They didn't.

"It was meant to produce a supersoldier for the new government." Zemo said, and Rumlow rolled his eyes.

"I'm guessing it didn't?"

"You would be correct, Mr. Rumlow," Zemo said, "It didn't. Only one test subject survived, with no apparent effects. In desperation, the head researcher turned the survivor into a sperm donor, all the while saying that everything was going according to schedule."

Justin furrowed his eyes. "And you would know all this because-?"

Zemo turned his gaze to Justin, unmoved. "Interrogation of those who knew of the project." Justin stiffened, and the man went on, "The head researcher asked for a woman to give birth to the child - specifically, a mother from the Black Widow program."

Justin's blood ran cold. Rumlow cocked his head. Zemo pressed further onward, "They chose their most successful student. Natasha Romanoff."

"Are you implying what I think you are?" Rumlow's lips curled a bit at the edges. Zemo shrugged.

"More or less. When the child was born, it was determined that the serum hadn't been inhereted to a valuable extent. In retaliation, both the survivor of the testing and the head researcher were killed." Zemo paused. "The child, however, was taken by an FSB agent who defected to SHIELD in 2002, Sasha Kuznetsov. She declined custody of the child, but she did give me the child's new identity." Justin didn't want to know how (though he had a pretty solid guess, if he did say so himself), but his thoughts were all shoved away by Zemo's next words, despite the fact that he'd surmised where the man's monologue had been heading. "Peter Benjamin Parker."


	16. Chapter 16

**Natasha arrived** back at the compound with a bar fight in the back of her head. The two belligerents were the absolute worst kind: just decent enough that they were able to redeem themselves after causing trouble, and too valuable to get rid of outright. They provided drinks to each of her insecurities and doubts, and the manila folder inside the glove compartment had incensed them.

Natasha had done her utmost to focus solely on the road during the drive back, but her efforts had been beleaguered from minute one: each stoplight brought with it another family, it seemed, with parents that ranged from utterly exasperated to, in Natasha's view, absurdly enthused about something one of the passengers said. She even saw a father riding shotgun while a nervous teenager sat in the driver's seat with a hesitant smile. None of these instances lasted more than a few seconds, but they were more than enough to set off Natasha's nearly fifteen year-old conflict.

Not that she honestly expected the news that they were a vigilante to sit well, but those incidents certainly hadn't been a boon. Looking through the folder was a stroll down memory lane - except the lane was overgrown and ill-maintained, with cracks slithering down the concrete. Each photo she flipped past was a tuft of grass that had fought its way to the surface during the years of neglect, and elicited a visceral reaction that frustrated Natasha immensely. She wasn't prone to episodes of self-pity, but the folder had convinced her that a long conversation with a punching bag would be in order.

This was why she'd ended the tabs. Burned every document on hand and stored only the absolute essentials away in that bunker, which only she and Fury were aware existed. But even the bare minimum had been enough for the urges to come back in force, and it didn't take long after that for the opposing side to rise up, too. Looking at a reference photo and searching New York via satellite was different than reading the photo; because Natasha had pulled every one of the photos she had from their cameras herself, and taken every audio transcript by burning sick leave. Natasha remembered one particularly well:

It was the last time she would see them in person. It was a photograph taken in 2003, shortly after she had defected. It was Christmas - her first Christmas - and she tailed the Parkers around Washington all day, careful to keep out of sight. Natasha thought with a flicker of tired amusement that she'd been so young then: just nineteen, and telling herself _just one more block, this shot isn't good enough, I might not get to do this again, _ad nauseum to justify extending her time tracking them. She'd taken her last photo from across a street dusted with snowflakes, because directly after she'd done so, they'd laughed, and despite the parts of her reminding her that _they were forced on you, _her heart had skipped a beat.

Natasha pulled into the compound's garage with a shake of her head, forcing herself back to the present. This - this wasn't her. At all. Her anxieties and half-baked, unjustifiable scenarios about their fate, alongside the thought of how they got to the point that they considered vigilantism a good idea - none of it mattered. It wasn't her. This wasn't in Natasha Romanoff's being whatsoever, and indulging in the "what-if" would accomplish nothing.

Thusly, she ran through her nightly routine with her mental censors on full. She purposefully avoided areas she knew the team might be, only stopping briefly in the kitchen to retrieve a protein bar and apple. She didn't care for breaking her patterns again today, but c'est la vie. Everything would be easier tomorrow.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, it wasn't.

Natasha spent far too long falling asleep. The images that assaulted her each time she closed her eyes were only half-formed, but they were enough; she found herself staring dully at the ceiling in a fashion she hadn't done in over eleven years, with words dangling off the edge of her tongue. There was suddenly so much she wanted to do - so much she felt she'd missed out on. Guilt was gnawing at the back of her mind, and supplying the idea that she could have stopped this if she'd only been sensible enough to accept the role she'd been given.

Yet for that very fact, Natasha didn't want to simply accept them. It felt like giving in to the Red Room again. Even at her worst, when she actively stalked the Parkers under Fury's nose, she had been embroiled in this conflict with herself. She hadn't fled to see them. She had defected for herself and herself alone. They were offspring - forced offspring at that - and nothing more or less.

However…

Natasha was awoken by a loud klaxon. She shot up in bed, taking three things: the clock on her desk that read 2:03, the fact that something had opened her laptop, and the burner on her desk whose screen was lit up in red. Natasha snatched up the cell phone and looked at the alarm, only to be left with a soundbite that made her heart sink:

_This is officer Davis. I've got a 10-34 SW and a teenage male who's been shot. I need-_

Natasha blinked as she listened to the audio. It lasted perhaps five seconds, however her breath seized halfway up her throat, and her jaw slackened. For the first time in years, she drew a blank.

Then Natasha shook her head, squared her shoulders, and got out of bed. The guard was patrolling as they usually would, yet it was the soundproofing of her quarters that unnerved her the most; the only sound was her footfalls or her breathing, both of which felt stiffer than they should have. She opened the safe behind her nightstand and withdrew another phone, then bustled into her shower, placing a call as she yanked the curtain into place.

_"Yes?" _Alex asked blearily.

"Alex." Natasha said, "where are they?"

_"You call _now_?"_

"I know," Natasha let out a long breath, "I only just found out. Where are they?"

_"They - they're fine. The doctors said he's fine."_

"'Fine'?"

_"I-" _Alex paused, _"I think so. He was stable, last they told me."_

"Alex," Natasha said slowly, "Was there anything… unusual that they commented on?"

There was silence from the other end for a few seconds, where Natasha glanced at the door. _"They said… they said he - or they - their metabolism was high. He was burning right through the meds. But I don't..."_

"How high did they his metabolism was?"

_"The doctors wouldn't give specifics," _Alex said, _"But the - the experiment, it - it failed, right?"_

Natasha set her jaw ever so slightly as she replied, "I'm not sure."

Alex was dead silent for a few moments, before with a slight quaver they asked, _"What?"_

"They're Spider-Man." Natasha told Alex, "it's why they're been sneaking out."

The words came out without a lick of hesitation, but something in Natasha's gut cried foul. Alex replied with pronounced concern, _"You're sure?"_

"Yes."

Another space of utter silence. Natasha could only imagine what she was feeling.

_"T-the bill…" _Alex began,

"We'll cover it." Natasha said swiftly. "The team knows. Tony will pay."

_"No." _Alex said, and the breath they sounded odd through the burner's speakers. _"The bill… Justin Hammer paid for it."_

* * *

Peter feltsomething on his mouth.

Or… around it?

Either way, it was weird, and his stomach hurt like, a lot, and everything around him was pitch-dark. His breath felt unnaturally hot, which wasn't aided by the odd, Darth Vader-esque sound emanating from a boxy outline to his right. Peter made out the silhouette of a woman slumped in a chair by the window, where a pale sliver of moonlight was snaking across the floor. His breath felt hot. And loud. Almost like he was wearing some type of mask. Like, an…

but… h-he wasn't…

Was he on _oxygen?_

Peter made to sit up, hands flying up to his face. They felt plastic just as the sensation of being boiled and fried at the same time lit up his gut like a christmas tree. Peter emitted a sound that hovered between a moan and a grunt. He swore that out of the corner of his eyes, he saw something shift. Peter fell down against his hospital bedding, feeling panic sprout in the back of his mind.

He was in a hospital, that much was obvious, and (Peter's breath froze up at the thought, but he forced himself through it) it was most definitely because he'd gotten himself shot. Shot by that man, who'd jabbed something in his neck and run off like the world's worst possible Dracula impersonator. Who had shot him. Point-blank. In broad daylight. Peter's eyes shot over to the silhouette he could see, and his heart sank.

May.

Peter gulped, his eyes watering as guilt grabbed his panic and began doing the tango. God, he was stupid. So, so stupid. He just - how could he - after everything - why was he like this?

Peter heard footsteps down the hall. Doctors. They were trying to save his he'd gotten shot. They were trying to…

Oh, _shit._

They were trying to save him.

Peter didn't know much about his powers, but he could only imagine what had happened; he wouldn't have been surprised if he burned right through any medications they gave him, and if his healing… oh god. Could he even accept any blood they gave him? What were they telling their superiors? What if - oh jeez, if Tony Stark wasn't looking out for something like this, Peter could buy the LEGO Deathstar. His thoughts were running ten miles a minute by the time the door to his room slammed open. Not a second later the lights turned on, bathing the room in cool, sterile light. May started, and as if she was motivated by some preternatural force, her eyes met his.

They were so full of fear and nerves that Peter had to rub his eyes. The guilt stopped dancing and slashed at him, swift and deep. The doctors rushed over to him, shoving the oxygen mask onto his face.

Peter let out a small, choked, "I'm sorry."

* * *

**This might be the last chapter for a bit. Thank you so much for your support! Love you guys!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Natasha cursed. **

"Alright," she said, "Keep an eye on them, Alex. Has Hammer shown up yet?"

"_No. Not yet." _Natasha heard Alex breathe out, long and slow. _"You don't think he'll try anything? I've kept going to kickboxing classes over the years, but I haven't had a real instructor in a while."_

"I doubt it." Natasha responded. "But make sure to close the blinds. Don't let anyone open them and sit tight." Natasha paused for a moment, weighing possible reassurances. "I'll figure out something to keep them safe."

"_Thank you."_

"Thank you. And the number's 406-943-1610." Natasha said back, hanging up. She cast her eyes about her bathroom, wondering how long it would be until Tony called the team together. If he wasn't half-assing this, then he should have known about their hospitalization. Natasha exited the shower and wracked her brain, entirely certain that sleep was a foregone possibility.

She knew that simply heading off into the night wouldn't do much. However, if Hammer wanted to kill them, there had to be someone looking after the kid. She wasn't certain if Rumlow or Hammer knew the identities of the compound's staff, but in any case she wanted someone she could trust on this. Not because it would make her emotions settle somewhat (Although she wasn't able to completely remove the thought that it would satisfy the instincts a bit), but simply for the fact that if Rumlow really wanted them dead… compound security was good - but she needed better.

And all of this was beside the fact that the kid had just been _shot _(The words still didn't feel tangible, and it had been nearly five minutes since she found out), and there was no way Steve wasn't going to get pissy. And all the problems that would come with witness protection were likely to follow whatever would happen in the next few hours, with the added variable of a traumatized teenager - and even _that _wasn't accounting for their superpowers or guilt complex, which would only complicate matters.

Natasha resisted the temptation to rub her temple, striding toward her dresser. No more sleep would come to her tonight, so she might as well be dressed for work. Her mind swirled with uncomfortable thoughts, many of which were frustrating variations on the same phrase: _They could die. They'll never know you. _

Natasha hadn't made the choice to cut herself off from her resources lightly. She had waffled back and forth, simply to make the choice, and it took her even longer to get rid of the documents and photographs she'd built up; for the first months in the absence of the photos and camera footage, she had found genuine struggle. Each day had been a wrestling match with her anxieties and insecurities, and without something else to occupy her time, the wrestling turned into sparring. She found herself more distracted three months out from the cut off then she was beforehand, and it took at least another year before Natasha finally accepted her new normal. And for a while, that worked. She was pestered by the old thoughts, but she managed to take back total control.

Then came the fall of SHIELD, which shook things a good bit. But that - she'd weathered it. She had weathered every wrench the world had attempted to throw into her life, and she'd weather this one.

Natasha brusquely exited her quarters, turning toward Steve's with a wary glance about her person. Unexpected and wholly unwelcome uncertainty was rising in her gut as she entered his quarters. She did her best to mitigate it, but found considerable difficutly. Memories were trying to bubble up when she flicked on the light switch.

Steve stirred sluggishly, but when he rubbed the bleariness from his eyes, he sat up quickly. "Nat?"

"The team needs to meet. Now." Natasha said, "Gather them and meet me in the conference room. I'll explain in there."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed, but he still nodded. "Alright." Natasha was almost out of earshot when he asked, "Nat, are you okay?"

For a moment, a shadow passed over Natasha's face; her jaw tightened and she tensed her shoulders.

"I'm fine."

* * *

Wanda just wanted to sleep.

The drill with Steve had left her with bruises and an intense apathy to anything that wasn't food or a mattress. Of course, none of that was helped by the knowledge that right now, a child was risking their life every day and she wasn't doing anything. She knew why - agreed too - but that amounted to a silver lining of silver linings.

It didn't keep her up long, but the thought was perturbing nonetheless. Almost as perturbing to her, as well, was the argument that had kept her in the Compound. The situation had escalated so quickly that for the first time, she felt like she truly understood where Colonel Rhodes got his expressions from; one 'no' from Tony and Steve had been ready to leave. Now, Wanda knew that Tony had officially stepped back from the Avengers, but even she had been able to look past her hatred for the man. However, the worst part to her wasn't the escalation - that worried her, but it raised a question she didn't want to be raised.

Why was she doing this?

Captain America hadn't hesitated to save a child. No thought process, no uncertainty. And while the man's calculus wasn't exactly complex, on a petty level, Wanda felt her own uncertainty about her life being dragged to the edge of sunlight, centimetres from being laid bare to the team. Ultimately, she agreed with Stark, but part of her yearned for such simplicity in purpose. A child and their family was in danger - what the hell was she gonna do, _not _try and immediately diffuse the situation?

When the lights to her room snapped on, her knee-jerk reaction was to dig deeper into her nest. However, Wanda forced herself to sit up, frowning blearily at Steve, who was standing in the doorway with concern shining on his face like a neon sign. "What's wrong?"

Steve shook his head. "Dunno, but something happened. The team needs to meet now."

Wanda nodded slowly, although she felt a prickle of exasperation. "Alright. I'll just need a minute."

Steve shook his head, "From the way Natasha said it, we might not have that long." he said, "I've already gotten everyone else besides Tony, and he'll be on our way from here. I'll wait outside."

Suspicion managed to pierce through her grogginess as she gave another nod. Steve left her room and Wanda shut the door, grabbing throwing on a t-shirt and sweatpants that she was fairly certain she hadn't washed in a few weeks. Her eyes flickered to the stick of deodorant on the top shelf of her closet, before she shook her head. She didn't know what was going on, but it must've been bad for it to force a team meeting at - Wanda glanced at her digital clock - three in the morning? Wanda managed to stumble over nothing on the way to her door, stopping herself from adding head trauma to the soreness already harassing her from the exercise yesterday.

Wanda squared her shoulders as she exited her quarters, met with a frown from Steve that had gotten even deeper. "You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine." Wanda snapped. Steve inclined his head, then gestured for her to follow him.

As they fell into step, he asked, "You look sore."

Wanda snorted, then promptly stuttered out an apology. "Uhm, yes. I am."

"I'm sorry about that," Steve "We won't do that drill for a bit."

Wanda nodded, ignoring the slight dryness in her throat. She yawned, rubbing tiredness from her eyes as they turned a corner. She bit back a yawn as the conference room came into view, Natasha standing at the head of the table, engaged in a hushed conversation with Stark. The looks in their eyes reminded Wanda of the guards the day she and Pietro fled HYDRA: sharp and wary, with an undercurrent of uncertainty.

Perhaps it was drowsiness, but Wanda was tempted to read their minds. She didn't like the look on Stark's face - she hadn't seen anything remotely like it since she'd tried to manipulate his fears. Natasha appeared less shaken, but Wanda had some doubt about the woman's stoic expression.

Sam was seated in one of the chairs near the end of the table, while Colonel Rhodes was just a chair away from Tony, eyes flickering between Stark and Natasha. And Vision was - wait, where was he?

Wanda's lip curled into a frown as she sat down next to Sam. Steve sat down on her left, taking a moment to clear his throat rather loudly. "Nat, Tony? What's wrong?"

The avengers in question turned their eyes to him, with Stark responding in an utterly flat voice, "The kid. He's been shot."

Wanda blinked. The other heroes in the room all rose to their feet in unison; the sound of their chairs' rolling against the floor was louder than Wanda thought it would be. She quickly stood up herself, and by that time Steve was already going.

"What do you mean by that?" the man was looking Natasha directly in the eye, his face drenched in concern. HIs jaw was tense, but his shoulders were beginning to sag. "Who did it?"

"Cops don't know," Tony responded brusquely, "Perp got away."

"How long have you two known about this?"

"Ahem. Just uh - well, for me it's only been half an hour. Nat came running to my _private sleeping quarters _demanding to see me in the conference room. Said the rest of you would be coming."

Steve straightened himself. "Nat? How did you know about this?"

"I've been in the NYPD's radio communications since the chitauri attacked." Natasha answered simply. "But Rumlow's been scrambling their entire communication apparatus since seven last night. The chief didn't say anything."

Steve huffed. "He didn't want to cause unrest. He probably thought it was a glitch."

"You know what that means?" Stark cocked his head to the side. Steve narrowed his eyes.

"Not the point, Tony. Which hospital was the kid taken to?"

"New York General." Stark grunted. "And Hammer's paying the kid's bill."

Steve's jawline tightened while Natasha crossed her arms. Wanda exchanged a glance with Sam. He said, "So he did it."

"Probably." Natasha nodded, "It happened outside a convenience store. Witnesses say Parker was chasing after the perp when he got hit." Something happened in Natasha's features - was that exasperation, or worry? "The doctors found puncture marks in his neck. They think he might've been drugged."

Colonel Rhodes rubbed his temple. "Jesus Christ. Was he?"

"Doesn't seem like it," Stark answered, "But he's been burning through their meds like nothing tomorrow, so you win some you lose some. The gunshot was a through and through, so that was…" Tony trailed off, tapping his fingers together for a moment, "He's stable. For now, he seems fine."

"This isn't fine, Tony." Steve said.

"Don't start," Stark's expression soured considerably. "We can talk about it later."

"You got a child shot, Tony." Steve said. Tony's sour face morphed into a glare. "But you're right. We'll talk about it later."

Wanda's eyes flickered over to Natasha, and she could've sworn that she woman's stance loosen.

"So," Natasha said, "What're we gonna do?"

"Take him in." Steve supplied immediately. Sam frowned, Rhodey opened his mouth, and Tony shook his head. Wanda swore she saw a minute change in Natasha's posture, but before she could truly contemplate what she may or may not have seen, Steve continued, "He won't be safe out there, and even if he was, his aunt doesn't have powers." he surveyed the room. "It's the only way. We're the best chance he's got."

Stark snorted. "Of course."

"If you have something to say, Tony, you can say it." Steve frowned. Stark opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it. He took another second to bite his lip before saying, "I'm not changing any diapers."

"Tony." Steve snapped, "He could be dying right now."

Stark glared at Steve for a tense space, in which Rhodey shook his head. Then he broke contact and rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. "I'll send some guys to New York General." He paused, sweeping his gaze around the room. "That's what you were leading into, right Cap? We're gonna go rescue him?"

"Yeah." Steve said, "We grab him and his aunt and take them back to the compound. Until we get Rumlow, it's the safest place for them. I'll take point." He pointed Sam, "once we're out of the quinjet, you're with Wanda watching our flank. Nat, you're with me. Rhodey and Tony can take the entrances."

Steve cast his eyes around the room a final time. "Any questions?"

Wanda had plenty, mainly about where their super-powered sentient computer was, but those questions could be asked later. Once this kid was safe, however, she promised herself that she'd get to the bottom of it; she was well aware of just how finicky human minds could be, and the thing in Vision's forehead was complex in ways she had just barely scraped the surface of. If what _seemed _to be occurring _was _actually happenig, well... they were all in for an interesting time, powered teenager or no.

"Alright," Steve said, "Let's go."


	18. Chapter 18

** Natasha was **getting tired of doing these calls in bathrooms.

She got a look from Steve as she darted into the quinjet's restroom that she didn't like; it was his 'I'm concerned about you and we will talk about this later' look, which promised nothing good. Not that she thought he'd actually find much, as only she and Fury were aware of their true origins, but she didn't need fuel for her paranoia.

She locked the door and got as far as she could to the back wall, then called Alex. Natasha had to wait a few moments for her to pick up, but when she did, the woman sounded sharp as could be.

_"What is it?"_

"We're coming for you and the kid. All of us except Vision."

It took Alex a whole fifteen seconds to respond. _"Are we in any danger?"_

"Satellites say no, but we can't be sure. But they're not safe in the hospital."

Alex sighed - she was probably look at them. _"I… okay. Okay. We're just - _what_?"_

"What's wrong?"

_"I - um, yes, thank you, Mr. Hammer. I just - I'm on a call with someone could I…? Thank you, Mr. Hammer. It will just be a moment. Thank you for paying Peter's bill."_

Natasha swore again.

_"Okay, he's out of the room. But, I suppose you can already see the problem." _

"Yeah, I can see it," Natasha muttered, "Keep Hammer occupied. Whatever he's there for, it won't be good. Don't leave Peter alone with him."

_"Right. I - Petey? Hey, hey! I'm here. Go back to sleep. Don't worry about anything, sweetie, I'm just on a call. In fact…" _Alex trailed off, _"... someone's here to see you. But that can wait until the morning. Who are they? Oh, it's just - someone who wants to help, I'm sure, now go back to sleep, alright? You've earned it. Shh." _

Natasha was half-waiting for the call the end, her eyes on the bathroom door. She knew the team couldn't know what she knew - which meant things were about to get so much more fun. Compartmentally speaking, of course.

_"I'm sorry, I really need to-"_

"-It's fine." Natasha cut in, "Do what you have to. Just keep Hammer occupied."

Alex hung up, and Natasha slid the burner into a pocket, right next to one of her pistols. She double checked it as she walked over to the sink, flushing the toilet along the way. She looked at herself in the mirror, studied the tired, beleaguered woman looking back. After a few moments, she turned on the sink and washed her hands. Natasha refused to let herself hesitate to open the bathroom door.

Natasha approached Wanda on her way to the cockpit, who was leaning against the wall opposite to Sam with closed eyes. She was breathing in slow and deep, at a steady pace. _1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2, 3, 4. _

"You doing alright?" Natasha asked her, making the woman jump. For a moment, uncertain, almost fearful eyes stared at her. Wanda quickly recovered herself quickly, however. Natasha cautiously placed a hand on her shoulder, "Once this is done, we're having a session tomorrow."

Wanda inclined her head, her expression a painstaking neutral. "Okay."

"You'll do fine," Natasha told her, "even if Rumlow decides to cause an incident, you aren't alone. NYPD's been alerted, too. They're blocking off all entrances and exits to New York General as we speak."

The corners of Wanda's mouth upturned somewhat. "That's good."

"You're good." Natasha said as she removed her hand. She felt Wanda's gaze on her back as she approached the cockpit.

"Has FRIDAY seen anything suspicious yet?" Steve asked Tony.

"Doesn't seem like it." Tony grunted. "Hammer's in his bedroom, from all that FRIDAY can tell. Some associates of Rumlow were spotted around Parker's apartment, but they left around ten. Other than that, nothing."

"Anything suspicious about the hospital?" Steve crossed his arms as the Empire State Building came into view. The windows of the skyscrapers stood out like signal fires, burning almost in spite. Natasha stepped up next to Steve, eyeing the city warily.

"Staff seems clean," Tony said, "One of the docs is taking pharmacy money, but his boss will now about that in, what? Four hours? Cameras don't seem suspicious, either - no signs of tampering, but Parker ended up in a ward where they've been having problems recently, so I can't be entirely sure."

"NYPD?" Steve leaned forward a bit.

"All their officers on this case seem good, too." Tony said with a casual wave of his hand. "And the guys quarantining New York General are just like you, Cap. Nice and squeaky clean. And armed."

"Hilarious."

"Just trying to lighten the mood a little," Tony muttered. "Besides, I'd know if-" he threw a glance back at Steve, and hesitated. "-alright, geez."

"I remember watching kids die back in '45." Steve said, "Some were just eighteen. They could've gone to college. One was just seventeen."

"I get it." Tony said, "I-"

"-Need to fly this damn quinjet." Natasha cut him off. "A minor's life is on the line."

Tony took a second before he managed to nod, in which Natasha repeated the same mantra to herself: _Richard and Mary Parker's son is in danger. May Parker's nephew is in danger. _

* * *

Peter was very groggy, and everything was really loud. HIs head hurt... did May just say MC Hammer had paid his hospital bill?

"Shh." May said softly, a forced smile stretched across her tired face. She looked a bit odd, because she was balancing a phone on her shoulder, but Peter didn't care much. He felt guilt rising in him, seeping into everything with wraithlike speed. "Just go back to sleep, alright?"

Peter's eyes shot over to the door. He couldn't hear what they were saying very well. Something was wrong.

"Did you say MC Hammer?" he asked, letting his Aunt push him back against the bed. May blinked in response, then looked as if she might laugh for a moment, and then she schooled her face.

"I'm sorry, I really need to-" she whispered at the phone, then, even more weirdly, May hung up. She didn't even say goodbye.

Peter's eyes darted over to the doorway again. "Who's that?"

"Someone who paid your hospital bill, sweetheart," May placed her phone on the window sill, "Now go back to sleep, okay? I-"

The door to the room was pushed open, and a man wearing glasses and a cream-coloured three-piece strode in. "-I'm sorry to intrude, but I just had to - oh, you're awake!"

His gaze met Peter's, and almost immediately Peter didn't trust the guy. Everything about him screamed corporate sleaze, from the shiny brown shoes to the obviously gelled-back hair that came straight out of an 80s movie.

"Mr. Parker, I presume?" he asked, approaching Peter with an outstretched hand. Peter glanced towards May, and right before he could shake the guy's hand, May stood up.

"Mr. Hammer," she said politely, "Peter's been through so much. I think whatever you want to say can wait until morning."

Peter's eyes widened, and his blood ran cold. His breath caught in his throat, somewhere just under his larynx. Hammer. Justin Hammer. Of Hammer Industries. Who had nearly gotten him killed when he was eight. That guy had just paid his hospital bill?

Peter gawked, which he knew was rude, but dude… Justin Freaking Hammer was right in front of him.

"Nonsense!" Hammer said jovially, "He's a smart boy. Besides, I don't think he'll be sleeping anytime soon - I know how I was at that age." He laughed, then extended his hand again.

"Mr. Hammer, I know you paid our bill, but I have to ask you to leave. Now."

Hammer's expression melted. He lowered his hand, and cleared his throat. "Of course, Ms. Parker. I'm sorry. I just - I wanted to see your nephew. When I saw that he'd been shot, I just couldn't ignore it. I…" Hammer paused. His eyes lowered slightly, and his shoulders slumped a bit. "I know what I did to him, and to everyone else who was at that expo, and I made it my mission to help everyone I harmed that night. Your nephew was my starting point."

May nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Hammer. But please, let him rest."

Hammer nodded back. "I understand, Ms. Parker. But I insist. Just one minute. I've checked with the docs, and they don't have a problem with it." He smiled, and May shook her head.

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of me tomorrow."

Hammer pursed his lips. "Or now? If I'm quick?"

May crossed her arms, forming the beginnings of a glare. She glanced between Peter and Hammer several times, then at the bulky masses outside the room's window. She slowly withdrew her phone, and set a timer, starting it. "Alright."

"Right!" Hammer turned to Peter, and held out his hand once more. Peter shook it after a moment, peering at the maniac (ex-maniac?) warily.

"Mr. Parker," Hammer said solemnly, crouching down to Peter's level. "I know how you must be feeling. Who wouldn't be suspicious, right? I know what I did." Hammer looked down, as if he was sighing. "I can't explain the state I was in: there is nothing I can say that would be able to. I am glad to say, However, that I have spent the past several years with a behavioral therapist, who helped me redevelop… empathy." Hammer looked Peter in the eyes, with a look that put the boy on his backfoot; Justin Hammer, from what he knew about it him, was like Tony Stark: brash and arrogant, but still a very effective businessman nonetheless. But this… yeah Peter didn't know him personally, but he just looked so… tired. "I know what I did, and I know I could never be Tony Stark. But I was hoping I could turn things around…" Hammer reached into his coat pocket, retrieving a business card. "Starting with you."

Hammer put the business card in May's hands, then turned back to Peter. With that same absolutely exhausted, shameful look. The alarm went off. "I want to help you on your path, Mr. Parker. In whatever way I can. I've sent you an email which I think you'll find intriguing. Contact me as soon as you're better, okay, bud?"

Peter stared at him, his heart thumping in his chest. May's alarm was still ringing, her eyes utterly distrusting as she stopped the alar. He gulped, then nodded slowly. His head felt really heavy for some reason; maybe it was the fact that he'd been seeing Hammer's look in the mirror for months on end; maybe he was delirious. Whatever the reason, he responded quietly, "T-thank you, sir."

Mr. Hammer smiled gently, turning to May. "Thank for allowing that, Ms. Parker."

May nodded, her arms still crossed. "Thank you, Mr. Hammer. But I must ask you to go."

"Of course." Mr. Hammer said, "Good night and a speedy recovery to you, Peter."

"'Night." Peter weakly raised his hand, "t-thanks."


	19. Chapter 19

_**Natasha shut **__the door to the camaro sharply, cutting off at least a dozen questions from the reporters swarming her. Their cameras flashed and snapped as she sped away, despite the one-way, blacked out glass of the car windows. _

_ She wouldn't be hearing the end of this for a while. Six months, at the least, but in all likelihood people that matter wouldn't forget about her testimony for years; telling the senate to buzz off had no chance of going well, HYDRA or no. She was fully expecting a call from Stark in the next few days, and most definitely one from Clint - if for nothing else than to plop her onto the farm for a hot meal. _

_ But she had bigger problems to deal with. They were small with respect to everything else she did in life, but they certainly _felt _far larger than anything else she'd gone through, except perhaps going AWOL. _

_ SHIELD was gone; their funding was gone, public trust had been mauled, and their numbers were less than a fraction of what they had been just last Monday. Fury had his work cut out for him, which meant that Natasha was set on a collision course with something - and someone - she had no intention of even knowing. She'd saved the world yet again, and this was her reward. _

_ The plan was logical. With their protection gone, Ben and May Parker would need some way to protect themselves, and some resources beyond a line to some of Fury's Lieutenants. Natasha was personally dubious as to whether anyone would ever come, but if anyone did figure out the backstory of Richard and Mary Parker's son, they would be too valuable to pass up. Giving them all the facts would provide them with direct lines not only to Natasha herself, but the Avengers at large whenever necessary. Doing this would help keep everyone as safe as possible without disrupting their lives anymore than necessary. The plan was sound, and Natasha couldn't quite accept it._

_ She'd buried her offspring in that bunker. Everything that hadn't been fuel for a puddle of propane was hidden away where no-one would ever suspect it or be able to access it. And now, the uncertainties that had plagued her ever since she'd closed the door to that root cellar were back in force. _

_ The past few days had been mighty fuel for every one of her intrusive thoughts, but those concerning her offspring had fed like a pack of starving wolves; the thought that the very system set in place to protect them and the people around them could be compromised - that innocent civilians would die because of decision she'd made - had gnawed at her without relent._

_ It continued to harass her as she parked at Reagan. The first thing she did was make a beeline for the nearest restroom, changing into jeans and a leather jacket. She threw on a beaten-up base cap to complete the disguise, appreciative that it was somewhat crowded. She was able to slip into the herd relatively unnoticed, swiftly navigating her way over to her terminal and claiming a seat. _

_ Her tickets would take her to LaGuardia. Natasha passed the time on her flight by skimming through a magazine, whilst soundly reminding herself that May and Ben Parker's nephew was in school right now, and further scheduled to meet a friend and go to the Rockefeller center, where they would be tailed by Maria Hill herself. Natasha also reminded herself that the number of people who knew about May and Ben Parker's nephew was limited to herself, Hill, and Fury, but part of her still adamantly supplied that _this won't be enough_, and on about how if they just told the kid now he might get some actual training. Or, if-_

_ Natasha silently smacked that corner of her mind, and focused far too intently on the issue of _Sports Illustrated _that had somehow found its way to her hands. The articles were monotonous and inescapably drill, but it provided a rote distraction, at the least. _

_ Once the plane had landed, Natasha was on a metro to queens in thirty-two minutes, after changing clothes once more. Her jacket was black - one of the first things she'd bought for herself. It was in near mint condition after all this time, and it brought a small level of familiarity. _

_ As she stepped off of the train and made her way to the Parkers' apartment complex, she attempted to ease the knot of tension - the gnawing, which got even worse with each step closer to the Parker's residence. By the time she stood at their front door, she was staring at her hands, because she felt sweat on her palms. She quickly wiped it onto her pants, roughly five seconds before the door swung open to reveal May Parker. _

_ The woman had hints of gray in her hair, but other than that there was nothing else to mark anything notable about her. Nothing to so much as hint about what slept in her apartment every night. She was clearly nervous, but still very polite as she let Natasha in. Her eyes gave Ben Parker a once-over, before zeroing in on a photo that sat upon the kitchen counter; a young child in a baggy Iron Man tee, grinning toothily at the camera. Natasha forced her eyes to Fury._

_ "Agent Romanoff," Fury said, "Glad you could make it." he looked to May and Ben, "I apologize for the wait, but her testimony at the Senate couldn't exactly be avoided." _

_ "It's nothing," Ben Parker said, giving Natasha a wary look for a moment, while May's eyes were firmly on Natasha, warily curious. "I just checked in with Peter's principle. He's in school."_

_ "Did that myself just before I got here," Fury replied, "Good instinct."_

_ Natasha sat down next to Fury, pooling much of her focus toward keeping her eyes on the Parkers. May said, "Director Fury, with all due respect," she glanced at Natasha, "This is about the detail on us, right? You weren't very clear with your message."_

_ Natasha raised an eyebrow just a bit as Fury shrugged. "Well, dead men are kinda like doctors, Mrs. Parker. Handwriting isn't the best. But yes, this is about the security detail. More specifically, about its replacement." he reached inside his jacket, withdrawing a manila folder (they were always manila), handing it over to Ben._

_ Ben and May, who had both leaned over to read the folder, stilled utterly and completely. Their eyes shot over to Natasha, who kept her expression neutral. She watched as their eyes descended down the folder, and how they grew to dinner plates in almost perfect unison. Both Parkers quickly reread the folder once, then twice, all while Natasha slowly crossed her arms, shoulders squared. _

_ The Parkers took another twenty seconds or so to finally look at her, with slackened jaws and tense hands. Natasha cleared her throat. _

_ "Yes," she said, "It's true. All of it."_

_ "Mary said she gave birth during that assignment-"_

_ "-In Europe," Fury nodded. "Yes. We extended that trip specifically for them."_

_ "And Peter…" May said quietly, "You told us Richard and Mary were killed for their research, and that people might-"_

_ "-Come after him to get to SHIELD." Fury finished, "Yes, we said that." he returned the Parkers' gazes without hesitation. "You didn't need to know _what _he was in order to need motive to protect him. It also preserved the idea that he was the Richard and Mary's biological child, which would stop him from snooping around for his real parents later in life."_

_ Ben leaned back in his seat, while May was holding Natasha's gaze, clenching her mouth shut. She looked to Ben, who was rubbing his temple, and asked quietly, "Are you going to take him away?"_

_ "No." Natasha said firmly. "He knows you. He believes Mary Parker gave birth to him and changing that now wouldn't be in his best interest." her eyes briefly flicked over to Fury, who appeared almost aloof, "I'm not gonna take his family away if I don't need to." Natasha's knit her fingers together tightly as she finished, "Besides, my work is dangerous. It wouldn't be an environment to raise anyone." _

_ "So ignorance is bliss?" May asked as Ben reached for her hand. His gaze flickered between Natasha and Fury, whereas May's stayed firmly on the avenger. _

_ "In this case, definitely."_

_ May went quiet. Ben squeezed her hand, then slowly began, "So what is the plan from now on?"_

_ Natasha took a brick phone out from her pocket and slid it across the coffee table. "This has a secure number on it. Goes directly to me." She un-knit her fingers. "If something comes up, or if you're concerned about suspicious activity, call it. I'll be over as fast as I can."_

_ The Parkers nodded. Their knuckles on their hands were white. _

_ "Hill is watching Peter right now," Fury said, "But after today, SHIELD cannot be relied upon to protect him. Go directly to Agent Romanoff from now on."_

_ "And if something comes up on my end," Natasha said, "I'll call."_

_ The Parkers nodded. Ben's face was solemn, while May was still peering at Natasha, her lips pursed. She paid another glance to her husband, possibly looking for support, before asking, "Do you have a backup plan? If something goes wrong and you can't make it to us in time?"_

_ Natasha shook her head. "Resources are tight right now. I could get Stark to get a detail on him, but that could lead to some unpleasant questions." She re-knit her fingers. "And it could also lead to more changes in his life."_

_ "Didn't one of your agents go rogue?" Ben frowned. _

_ "Rumlow did," Fury replied, "And had a building dropped on him. And in any case, if an attack hasn't happened by now, it isn't likely to happen. Everyone involved in the project Peter was wrapped up in is dead, and many of the people who oversaw it kicked the bucket a while ago." _

_ "I took a lot of the shots myself," Natasha added, "Trust me, this is the best for everyone."_

_ May and Ben exchanged uneasy looks, before turning back to the Fury and Natasha. _

_ "Alright." May spoke up first, resigned. "Ben?"_

_ Ben was clearly unhappy, but he said, "Nothing. I just hope you're right, Director Fury."_

_ Natasha turned her head to Fury, who she quickly followed in rising to her feet. She did her utmost to keep her eyes on the Parkers, but she failed; they strayed over to a set of framed photographs resting on the bookshelf in the corner of the apartment; most included Peter somehow, but the one that stood out most was one of Peter in tights and a t-shirt, stretching in a room where the walls were mirrors, wearing red ballet shoes. She ripped her eyes away from it as fast as possible, but it was too late. _

_ "It'll be fine," Fury said, "and if something goes wrong, there's an avenger to make the problem go away."_

_ Natasha nodded, but the image of Peter Parker doing ballet didn't leave her alone for the rest of the day._


	20. Chapter 20

_You can't know love till you know pain_

_You can't feel pride till you feel shame_

_Cause love's one thing you can't pretend_

_And desperation's not your friend_

_But in the silence, we can make a sound, oh_

_Everyone wants_

_Everyone needs_

_And we want something to believe_

_When we get close, everyone knows_

_Feels like we're going home_

_Everyone wants_

_Everyone dreams_

_In the end love is all we need_

_When we get close, everyone knows_

_Feels like we're going home_

"Going Home", by _The Score_

* * *

**The problem **wasn't getting into the hospital.

Natasha kept her face free of microexpressions as the team secured the hospital. Tony was dead silent as he took position next to Rhodey, the eyes their masks of glowing harshly in the night. She caught Wanda running through breathing exercises, while Sam's gaze darted all around his person.

The hospital staff had supposedly been alerted to their presence by FRIDAY, and while their path was clear of any obstacles, the stares on their faces told a very different story about preparedness. Natasha gave each staff member they ran into a once-over, and none of them appeared to be threats, she wasn't going to be trusting any of them any time soon.

Her mind got louder the closer she got. They took the stairs up to the floor with Parker on it, making the effort pass far too quickly for Natasha's taste.

_"Uh, guys," _Tony said, _"We've got a problem."_

Steve cleared a landing of stairs as he asked, "What is it?"

_"I don't know _how, _but FRIDAY just spotted a truck with the head of HI security in it leaving the parking lot."_

"Hammer's here?"

Natasha kept her face stock still as Tony replied. _"Dunno. But the truck that just left was armed for war, so - maybe?"_

Steve's expression tightened. He threw a glance back at her, Wanda, and Sam. "Alright then. Track the truck back to wherever it came from. Has the NYPD given any updates on how things are going on their end?"

_"They haven't told me anything bad, Cap. So things are either going smoothly or something is about to make our lives a whole lot worse."_

"Get in contact with the police chief." Steve said, twisting the handle to Parker's floor. "Stay sharp."

_"Three AM sharpness coming up, Rogers."_

The floor was almost entirely empty. Natasha knew that Parker was being treated near this end of the floor, which would make things easier, logistics-wise. She quickly rounded a corner and was met with a sight that helped nothing.

Justin Hammer stood outside of the hospital room, immersed in conversation with a woman who Natasha presumed to be their doctor. Skepticism was etched into her face, albeit she stayed remarkably collected, considering the two burly guards flanking Hammer.

All parties immediately turned their heads when the avengers came down the corridor. Birefly, Hammer balked, before quickly plastering a tired smile across his face. The doctor gawked as Hammer extended his hand. "Captain Rogers!"

"Save it." Steve brushed Hammer's hand aside. "Is the kid ready to be moved?"

The doctor recovered her wits with a firm shake of her head. "Y-yes. He's ready." she paused. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"-It's nothing." Steve said easily. Natasha was staring Hammer down guardedly. "Thank you for being so adaptable."

"Is something wrong with Peter?" Hammer asked. A small, radical part of Natasha very much wanted to test his jaw with an uppercut, which she firmly shunted aside. "I'm happy to cover whatever else may come up."

"You won't be needed." Natasha said. "You can leave. You too, ma'am. We'll take the kid from here."

Hammer went quiet for a moment, before slowly nodding and setting off away from them. The doctor followed in his footsteps about five seconds later, her frame tense. Natasha followed Hammer with her eyes until he was out of view.

She turned her gaze back to Steve, whose hand was lingering on the door to Parker's room.

"Ready?" he asked them. All three avengers nodded, and Steve opened the door.

Of course, they were wide awake. Their eyes immediately locked onto Steve, wide and flabbergasted. May looked to Natasha for a moment - two seconds? It shouldn't have been noticeable, however long it was.

"Uhm." May Parker's nephew gulped. "I - uh - I - I don't-"

"Calm down, son," Steve said gently, "It's alright."

May took her nephew's hand. "Thank you, Mr. Rogers."

"Bu-"

"Shh, Peter," May whispered, removing her hand from theirs and pushing him back onto his hospital bed. "You'll be okay. I'll explain all of this later."

Mary Parker's son made a sound like a fish gasping for air, before gulping again. His gaze flitted about the room - it was too sterile and white for Natasha's taste, combined a little too well with the sight of her offspring - with a wild, almost fearful lilt.

Steve took off his helmet. Richard Parker's son seemed to flinch at the small _hiss _it let out as the mask loosened. Steve approached them slowly, crouching down to their level. "You're in danger, Peter. Your aunt is too." he cautiously laid a hand on their shoulder, "We're gonna take both of you somewhere safe, okay?"

Natasha was scrutinizing the windows of the hospital room, double and triple checking for any sign of Hammer's people or hospital staff. She heavily doubted that Rumlow would try anything, but she couldn't discount the possibility, nor the thought that he now, there were a whole group of very important people in the same room.

"O-okay." May's nephew said, "I-if you s-say so."

* * *

They talked too little. Or perhaps, too much. Hearing their voice was like having a needle shoved into her arm. It was always in the same spot, too; a sharp, concentrated stinging, a well of emotions she shouldn't have had, all the scenarios that had slipped through the cracks of her thought-policing over the years banging on the door of her painstakingly crafted neutral expression. She wanted them to shut up and simultaneously wanted them to keep talking, as a reminder that despite her mistakes, they weren't dead yet.

They were silent on the way to the quinjet, and only asked a few questions on the flight to the compound. Their eyes were plenty active, jumping between different members of the team, wonder caught between uncertainty.

Natasha kept her eyes away from them and May, staying in the cockpit, and hanging back and catching Tony's shoulder as he moved to leave after they landed. He looked up at her, somewhat confused, met with a steely gaze. He gave a small nod.

Steve led the escort moving May and her nephew to medical. He gave them a questioning look, and Natasha answered, "Just double-checking something about the intel I got the other day. We won't be long."

Captain America grunted, before nodding. Natasha ignored the curious gaze that dashed between her and Tony's backs.

"You're gonna run tests, right?" she asked Tony.

He frowned, then shrugged. "Probably. I'd like to learn about his powers, and while we'll have to run it by his aunt, I'd still take a DNA sample for identification purposes." he cocked his head. "Do you suspect that string bean of being evil or something?"

"No," Natasha said, "But you should know a few things first." She crossed her arms. "Firstly, that he's mine."

Tony's brow furrowed deeper. "Nat, he kinda all our responisbility now."

"No." Natasha said firmly. "He's my son."

A vein in Tony's neck tensed. He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head, snorting. "Hilarious, Romanoff."

"Do the test," Natasha said, "Do a thousand. You'll find the same thing each time."

Tony held her gaze for several moments, in which a myriad of emotions played across his face. His jaw gradually loosened, and then he finally said softly, "You're serious."

Natasha nodded. "That kid is a failed supersoldier - the FSB got a bag of Steve's blood in the late ninties, tried to use it to make their own Captain America." Tony's eyes shot wide. "It's a long story, and I can explain more later, but you can't tell Steve about this."

"Does - does his aunt know?" Tony asked.

"Yes. Known for years."

"That kid," Tony began, "they're, what? Fourteen? You must've…" he trailed off, looking away from Natasha's raised eyebrow.

"Yeah." she replied, "It isn't pretty."

Tony sighed heavily. "You don't want me to say I'm sorry they put you through that, right?"

Natasha leaned back a bit. "Not particularly. The past is the past."

"Steve had a grandkid." Tony whispered to himself. "And he's _still _a virgin."

"This gets out to no-one," Natasha told Tony sharply. "This stays between us and May Parker, understand?"

Tony bit his lip for about thirteen seconds. He bowed his head, then raised it. "Yeah."

* * *

"You didn't say anything." May said. Again, they were having a conversation in the bathroom. No-one to listen in.

"I didn't see much need." Natasha was standing tall, whilst May was leaning against the counter of the bathroom's sink with sagging shoulders, pulsating weariness.

"Of course," the woman responded quietly, "Of course. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Natasha said, "Tonight's been tiring for all of us."

"He took it better than I thought he would," May murmured, "I was afraid he would have…" she threw a glance toward the mirror, then put her face in her hands. "I don't even know anymore. I thought…"

"We're gonna get Rumlow." Natasha told her. "Hammer too. Then you and your nephew can go back to your apartment." Perturbed eyes turned to Natasha. May opened her mouth, then closed it. "Tony'll get him tutors. He won't fall behind in school." Natasha added, "he'll be able to call or facetime his friends whenever he needs to."

May let out a long breath. "Right." she thrummed her fingers against the sink's counter. "Are you guys gonna - gonna train him? Test him?"

"You're his guardian." Natasha said. "It's your choice, in the end, but we'd need his DNA for ID."

May frowned. "So does…?"

"Tony knows. He's promised to keep it under wraps."

May snorted. "I trust you, but I don't trust him."

"He knows what I'd do if he lets it out." Natasha replied simply. May sighed again.

"Right. Everything will be fine." she muttered, "Of course it will."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Parker," Natasha took a step toward her. "I know what your nephew means to you. I didn't ever predict that things would turn out this way."

May's focus was on her shoes by now, but slowly raised up to meet Natasha's neutral expression. Anger flickered through May's eyes. "No. You didn't." she laughed. "No-one did! Because who would predict that - that _your _son would end up adopted by my husband's brother, that he would die, and that-" May swallowed thickly, "-_I'd _be the only family he thinks he has left!" she laughed once more, sounding slightly maniacal. "Or that he'd have _superpowers _and that he'd lie to me for _months _and that I'd be so - so - so..." May's face darkened, and she turned her look at the wall, her lips twisting upward unpleasantly on the way.

Natasha wasn't sure what to say. Assurances would probably exacerbate the woman's anger, and she didn't have much to say that wouldn't be a lie straight through her teeth. Because nothing had gone according to plan; the thing she'd poured so much effort into avoiding had come to pass, and the person she'd attempted to keep somewhat safe - for moral reasons - had nearly died.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Parker." Natasha said.

* * *

**Happy holidays! I'm honestly floored by the reception this story has received, and I'm really thankful to everyone who follows, favs, and reviews - it makes my day to see that someone enjoys my work that much! I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season, and any and all favs/follows/reviews will be greatly appreciated. **


	21. Chapter 21

**May **was awoken by a very startled noise from her nephew.

She immediately got up from the uber-padded chair she'd fallen asleep in next to his hospital bed and, despite feeling very lethargic, put her hands on his shoulders. She was briefly struck by the thought that despite the superpowers he supposedly had, she could still feel the tips of the bones in his shoulders.

Peter was staring at her, taking in swift, shallow breaths. Morning light poured in through a window in the hospital room, sharper due to the pale gray skies outside. Water threatened the edges of Peter's eyes, prompting one of May's hands to wipe it away with her thumb.

"Hey," she murmured, "It's alright, Petey. I'm here."

"I…" Peter began scratchily, "I… had t-this weird dream that the avengers rescued me." he gave her a look that bordered on pleading, even as his shoulders jumped, suggesting a chuckle. "W-weird, right?"

May internally sighed, and kept up the smile. "Did you like that dream?"

Peter should've nodded. Given a resounding yes. The Peter she'd raised should've done both.

Instead, the boy in front of her faked a smile of his own. "I guess."

Nothing had worked out. The plans laid out to protect her and Peter had failed. The mighty had stumbled, and now their lives would never be the same; there was no returning to how things were. Her ignorance had been stripped away over ten years ago, and yet the back-ups put in place by the people best able to ensure their security had been utterly blindsided.

And that wasn't even considering how she'd failed to stop her own nephew - and Peter _was _her nephew - from risking his life every night. She should've clamped down harder, or at least kept a sharper eye on him; the first time he snuck out, she should've stayed up, waited for him to return. But it so close after Ben and… she lapsed. Had he gone out to fight a cirminal? Take a photo? Both? She hadn't learned. She noticed her sewing supplies going missing after Peter had promised that he could make due with what he had, and discounted it. If Peter wanted to find expression in new arts, who was she to deny him that? And all that exercise wasn't simply to get in shape or process anger or anything normal, of course, it was meant to let him fight people. With no training. On his own. And Jesus, when her first aid kit disappeared...

"Pete," May whispered, cautiously slipping arms around his frame. "I'm so glad you're okay." she closed her eyes, and felt Peter stiffen in her arms. She let out a shaky breath. "I love you, you know that, right?" she considered her words for a moment, "I love you, Peter."

"I-" Peter said, "-I love you too."

She held her kid a bit longer, careful not to damage the stitches, before pulling away. She stretched, as Peter's eyes remained on her, rapt. Skittish glances to other places in the room poorly hid the uncertainty clouding them.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"Well," May said cautiously, "we were rescued by the avengers. We're at one of their facilities until the people threatening us." The words felt a good bit beyond alien to say, as was the sheer panic that seized Peter's entire face. He made a vain attempt to hide it by coughing violently into his elbow, but May wasn't so easily fooled.

"They know about you being Spiderman, Peter," she told him slowly, "Just like I do."

Any veneer of calm vaporized. Peter's jaw fell slack as he balked, and his eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. "M-may-" he spluttered, "I-I can-"

May sighed heavily, putting a hand to her forehead. "Pete," she interrupted, "let me talk first, alright?"

Peter opened and closed his mouth a few more times, like a fish out of water, then lowered his eyes to his bedsheets, nodding.

"I wish you'd told me," May said, "I was so worried that you were going to get hurt due to normal teenage stuff, but if I'd known what you were doing, I would've stopped you." May reached for Peter's hand, which he let her take. It was limp as she gave it a squeeze. "I also wish that you'd told me about the superpowers." Peter shifted to the left in the bed. May entwined her fingers with her nephew's. "From now on, no more secrets from me, alright?"

Peter swallowed. "Mhm."

"Hey, hon, look at me." May said. It took Peter a little bit to finally turn his head toward hers. "I'm also proud that you've been helping people." she hesitated for a moment before saying, "You're Mary and Richard's son through and through."

That almost got a smile out of him. Peter swallowed thickly once more before asking, "So, uh, do we just stay here for awhile?"

"I know you'll have tutors," May said, "and that they'll take your spit and fingerprint for ID," Peter shifted again. May squeezed his hand again. "But other than that, this is a bit of an adventure for both of us."

That got Peter smile just a little bit. It quickly disappeared, however, and he asked, "Will they do more tests? Like, for my…" he directed his eyes around the room before circling back to her skittishly. "... my powers?"

"We'll see," May said, "But for now, I think it's around lunchtime. What would you like, Pete?" Peter was silent once more, prompting May to turn his head so he was looking at her. "Hey, kiddo," she told him, "you will be fine. We will be fine, okay?"

* * *

Natasha kept her eyes focused on the road, as if her trunk didn't hold a teenager's attempt at a supersuit. As if she hadn't just broken into their home, just hours before compound security would discreetly retrieve all the items May Parker had requested be brought to her and her nephew.

She was thankful that the stretch of road she was on hadn't been paved over in a few years, because the shrill sound of her tires against it provided another noise beside the occasional _click-click-click _of her turn signal, or the ambient hum of the camaro's AC. Again, she tried to avoid looking in the other cars on the highway: and again, she failed.

She hadn't slept. She couldn't. She'd covered up the bags under her eyes and made sure it appeared as if nothing was amiss, but she knew the signs of her fatigue would inevitably show. Natasha bitterly detested the idea that the presence of offspring would cause her to lapse in self-care, but she had been forced to shelve those emotions. They would only get in the way, and she would need to stay alert for the near future.

Natasha knew she was on edge. She knew her agreement to collect their super suit held more edge than it should've. She needed to stay professional - impassionate; no one could know. It would disrupt not only her life, but theirs, and no matter how much a corner of her wanted to throw it all aside because _aren't we close enough, anyways? They aren't stupid. People will notice that you two look alike. The longer we put this off-_

If she had any faith in any sort of god, now was right about when she would even begin to consider prayer. But she couldn't.

She wasn't a parent. She _couldn't _be a parent.

Parenting required empathy. Comfort with expressing affection. And, above all, unconditional love. Natasha could certainly pull off the first two, but her love? It didn't come easy, nor was it unconditional. Not only that, but she already had a family, practically speaking. It would never work.

Their room had been messy - cluttered with over a decade's worth of living. She noticed an old, clunky laptop with a tattered piece of paper taped to it, onto which the name "KAREN" was written in nearly illegible chicken scratch. It took less than a second to suss out where they had hidden their suit - a panel in the ceiling that lead to a small, cubbie-like space with stale air. Their bed was unmade, and upon further investigation into their closet, she found a heavily battered first aid kit, wrapped in a paper towel and stuffed into a heavy duty ziploc, which was itself inside another ziploc. Their super suit had been simplistic, with messy stitching and patches placed here or there, likely due to tears.

What surprised her was the goggles. Even being unable to see out of them, she could make the lenses zoom in or out, a remarkable feat for someone with so few resources. Even the-

No. Natasha counted to five and let out a slow breath, just as the shrill noise from the road disappeared, and she was surrounded with near-total silence. Black Widow narrowed her eyes for a fraction of a second, then forced her expression to be neutral.

Her thoughts failed to quiet, however.

Her attention shifted to other concerns; she'd had enough time mulling over Rumlow's attack to suspect that it wasn't him. Unless he knew about them and was trying to prove it to Hammer, there would be little to do what their attacker had done; Spiderman had been specifically stabbed with a syringe, and it was only when they began to fight back that their attacker struck out. Even the gunshot was suspect to her: no-one who knew that they were enhanced and wanted them dead would even take the chance of running, unless there was an ulterior motive.

If, hypothetically, a third party wanted to partner with Rumlow and Hammer, knew about Spiderman's true origins, and needed to prove it…

Natasha's jaw tightened, and she turned to join the road that would take her back to the compound, counting to five once more.


	22. Chapter 22

**All things **considered, Natasha supposed it could have been far worse.

She ducked under one of Wanda's kicks and darted into her guard, punching her in the gut along the way. The younger woman grunted, stumbling backward. Natasha then swept out her legs, and straddled her, leveling her elbow just above her neck.

Wanda's eyes were wide, and her breathing was short and ragged. Natasha stood up and offered her a hand. Once she was up, Natasha directed her to the water bottles laying on the bench in the corner. She sat down and cleaned the sweat off of her neck with a small towel, while Wanda drained her water bottle.

"Thought you could kick me again?" she asked lightly. Wanda stopped sipping almost immediately, appearing almost fearful for a moment, before the corners of her mouth turned up bashfully.

"Maybe." she said.

"You slower than you were last time." Natasha said, "Why is that?"

If Natasha was entirely honest with herself, she had been half-expecting Wanda to perform better; she knew she still had a sleep deficit, even though she had gotten her usual amount of rest for the past three days. "Wanda?"

Wanda's shoulders hunched slightly. Her grip on the water bottle whitened her knuckles. "I'm sorry." she said. "I'm just… concerned."

Natasha peered at her, searching. "Vision?"

"I've never seen…" Wanda responded, "It's odd. I don't understand what's happening in his head."

"Sit up." Natasha told her, "What's confusing you?"

Wanda complied, and drank some more water. "I could always see his mind if I wanted to. It wasn't quite human, I suppose, but it…" she frowned. "...it made sense. But now, he can feel pain - he's _eating, _and he isn't human." Wanda paused. "Or Asgardian. I know there's something present, but…"

"If it's any consolation," Natasha said, "Tony's been kicking himself over this too. And he built Vision."

Wanda nodded. "Yes. I - thank you. Sorry."

"Stop apologizing," Natasha told her, "You're doing your best." she stood up and took a short sip of water. "Now get your head in the game. We have two hours before we have dinner."

Wanda stood and stretched her neck. "Right."

* * *

Tony rubbed his brow tiredly. Had it really only been a week ago that he thought the avengers were childless? "What?"

_"The fundraiser, Tony," _Pepper chided over the phone, _"The one on the Brooklyn Bridge."_

Tony blinked. Fundraiser? He was in a world where fundraisers still existed? "Huh."

_"Tony, we had to negotiate with the mayor for two weeks to get it approved." _Tony could hear her lips pursing in disapproval. Maybe he shouldn't have thought of that. That would be very clingy ex-boyfriend of him. _"Steve agreed to show up to raise money for the New York Public Library. The one that _you _agreed to attend." _

Tony sighed heavily. "Yeah. I remember it. Steve really loves Jane Austin."

_"I'm just reminding you now," Pepper said, "So you can't say I didn't give you time to prepare your speech. I've also told FRIDAY to remind you every day until the fundraiser."_

Tony narrowed his eyes at the ceiling. "Really, FRI?"

_"Are you alright, Tony?" _Pepper asked. Tony's hand moved to pinch his nose while he closed his eyes.

"Yep. Fine."

When you can the… the things that I can, but you don't… and then the bad things happen…

_Christ. _

_ "What happened, Tony?"_

Oh, nothing. Just one extremely jarring CW-esque plot twist and intense concern over the fact that a kid had nearly died because of a choice he made - and it wasn't even the first time he'd put the kid's life in danger. Tony was feeling great.

"Nothing. Just Cap being an ass."

That was a lie, but Pepper probably wasn't going to look deeper into it. Maybe. He hoped she wouldn't.

Pepper is silent; she's sitting at her desk right now, the bright… what time was it? Tony checked his watch with a furrowed brow. Okay, it was still morning. Right. The bright, early morning-

"You're security's good, right?"

The words came out before he can stop himself. All that he's been able to think about is that Rumlow shot a kid - a _kid _\- and that the boy had looked so, so tired. Tired like he looked much of the time. And if he squinted, he swore Natasha's frown once or twice. And now his life was partly in Tony's hands, and if Rumlow could nearly kill an enhanced (albeit, a teen, who wasn't prepared, but still), what was to stop him from shooting others? The police had no leads on the shooter, too; the guy had seemingly sunk into the floor after shooting Peter.

Paranoia? Definitely.

Unjustified paranoia?

_"Yes." _Pepper said slowly, _"Happy cleared them all years ago. What's wrong?"_

Well.

Tony wiped his brow, turning away from the paper haunting his eyes. It was held down by a spare wrench, with one end curling upward. It was black and white and he'd had to get it from the printer himself, because he couldn't trust anyone else with this. Natasha had given him a fresh spit sample to use, to compare to Peter's, and sure as the tension he stored in his neck, she hadn't been lying. The _one goddamned time-_

_"Tony?"_

Tony sighed heavily. "Rumlow. That terrorist, y'know him?" Pepper definitely knew who he was, Tony was just being himself. He felt great. "He shot someone. They're staying with us now, but - it would make me feel better if you got Happy to clear them."

_"I'm fine, Tony." _Pepper said, _"You haven't given him the address of the compound, have you?"_

Tony rolled his eyes. "The kid - the person." Tony clicked his tongue against his teeth, then sighed again. He could hear Pepper's eyes narrowing. "Okay, I know how that sounds-"

_"It sounds," _Pepper interrupted, _"Like you guys just took a minor into the compound."_

Tony ground his teeth together. Steve had wanted to keep the circle as tight-knit as possible. Lying would probably just dig this whole even deeper - the compound was technically his property, but Pepper had enough access to determine that the kid was indeed a kid and not like, twenty, although that fib was tempting. "His aunt agreed. Legally. And they're staying here together. I had Fri pick out everything he'd need, and my guys brought in things from their apartment." Tony paused. "So, uh, no need to worry."

_"What's the boy's name?"_

"Do you really need that info?" Tony, against his better judgement, approached the workbench with the DNA test on it.

_"Well, if I ever need to come over, it would make a good impression to know his name." _

"You can just say you don't trust me."

_"That's not what I meant, Tony."_

Tony set the beer can down on the workbench, unopened. Drinking wouldn't do if a kid was gonna be around - especially with the fact that they would be testing Peter's powers today. They already knew he had a healing factor, of course, but the kid could, still, technically, shoot lasers out of his eyes. Yep, drinking would probably be a bad idea.

No matter how much he _desperately _wanted to.

"Peter," He said, studying the DNA markers for the eighteenth time. "Parker."

Pepper responded. He knew because he heard the sound, but the words faded into the background or… something. They got lost in the words he'd just uttered, the half-truth he'd just told.

Because Peter Parker was really a Romanoff. No sign of any supersoldier project appeared on any FSB servers, but the tests didn't lie. Peter _was _her child, and he also had a bit of Steve's serum-modified DNA, too, buried under all that mutation. Signs of mutation from the spider-bite (god that sounded ridiculous) were present, too. It all checked out. Every single piece of it.

_"Have a good day, Tony." _Pepper said, and then she hung up.

* * *

Natasha was leaning against a wall when May walked out with her nephew. The skies were more than a bit drab, gray that grumbled about coming rain. Weights ranging from 100 to 800 pounds, were stacked on top of each other, and the high-jump bar that Steve used had been brought out. A few other contraptions had been pulled out of the Compound's storage, too, some of which didn't look at all like exercise equipment.

They looked out of place. They barely reached Steve's upper arm, and their eyes darted amongst the avengers assembled in front of them. Steve gave a friendly smile as he approached the pair, even as their face reddened.

"Thank you for agreeing to this, Mrs. Parker," he said, "hopefully, we can get a better idea of what's going on with you, eh?" he added, turning to Mary's son.

The boy nodded, and Steve lead him over to the dead weights. He gave the avengers another sweep as he did, and for a brief moment, Natasha was aware, _truly _aware, that they didn't know her. She was a stranger - larger than life, and, if the trepidation in their eyes was any indication, someone who was very intimidating.

And Natasha… felt. About that.

A feeling that she would never act on, of course. The less people that knew, the better. They deserved better than a mother like her, and in any case, she didn't choose to be a parent. She had a right to her own choices, and they had a right to live with people that genuinely cared about them. Because she didn't - she couldn't.

"Alright," Steve directed them to the high bar. "Try and jump over that. Make a running start from that white line. Try not to hold back, but if something hurts, feel free to stop." he pointed to a marker a few dozen feet away. They nodded slowly, and made their way to the marker as like they were walking on nails.

They moved faster than Natasha expected them to. Easily equal to Steve, but it was their jump that made her eyebrows rise. They soared over the bar, to the point that they surpassed the fence, landed almost perfectly. They were a bit heavy on their right ankle, but for an amateur, Natasha had expected far worse.

(She ignored the look in their eyes as they looked to May for approval.)

From there, they tested their strength (several times Steve's, which was somewhat concerning not only for the implications but also because she felt something akin to pride swell in her chest), reflexes, and so on. Awkward would have been a generous way to describe how they interacted with everyone, but it went well. Tony was getting on her nerves a bit, with the way he kept looking back and forth between her and them when he thought he could get away with it, but it went well. No-one was any the wiser.

Soon after the testing was finished, May was taking her nephew to the compound's cantine for lunch, and Steve was studying the kid as he left, with just a little pyrite to his smile.

"You aren't embarrassed, are you?" she asked, elbowing him.

He shook his head. "Of course not. Just…" Steve paused, "It's encouraging, I guess. Seeing that there are people out here willing to do what we do." his faced soured somewhat. "Just wish it hadn't happened so young, for him."

Natasha internally cursed. "Yeah."

Steve glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "You didn't talk to him."

Natasha shrugged. "Didn't see a need. I scare people, Steve." She looked him in the eye. "He... he seems like a good kid, though. Reckless, but well-intentioned."

Steve nodded, then walked away. Natasha threw another glance around herself, and saw Tony talking on the phone, paying covert glances to her over and over again.

Natasha crossed her arms and marched over, just as Tony hung up. "Questions?"

Tony gripped his phone tightly. "A few. How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"That thing. The whole, 'he's not my-'"

Tony was cut off by Natasha grinding her boot onto his toes with a terrifyingly flat look.

"No questions?" Natasha asked. Tony spent a two seconds debating whether or not to press the point, all the while with Natasha grinding down his toes, then shook his head.

"Nope. Nada."

Natasha nodded, turned away, and briskly began heading for her quarters. Tony continued to peer at her as she left, but she didn't care.

She had a job to do. They weren't part of it.


	23. Chapter 23

** Wanda meant **it when she said it: she did not understand what the hell was going on with Vision.

Vision had been spending a lot of time in Stark's lab. In the two weeks since they rescued Peter, his condition had only gotten stranger. His mind was firing in a way it hadn't ever before; every day it was becoming just a tad more human, and yet Wanda could also tell - no, _feel _\- the mindstone's influence. It was a spectacle the likes of which she hadn't ever seen. Something bursting with rough, wild intelligence that was like looking at a window into a rave; incomprehensible, but her attention was irrevocably drawn to it nonetheless.

As of now, however, she wasn't near Vision. She was in her room, guitar in her arms, her fingers poised centimetres from the strings. Her thoughts were flitting about at an almost dizzying pace. She wanted to play. It would provide a distraction for herself. Developing skills kept the mind sharp.

But part of her wanted to think. Think and think until the sun went down and she'd wasted the day away without accomplishing a single thing except acute mental exhaustion.

The question had grown at a worrying pace. It hung over her like an anvil, engraved on the bottom so that whenever she checked to see whether or not it had been released she would see it in searing, white-hot letters. It dissipated when she was training, but only briefly, and, if anything, came back stronger than it had before, exacerbated by the aching in her musculature.

Wanda knew this lethargy. So much that she had to say, so little capability to express any of it. Each time the thought so much as crossed her mind to tell anyone, part of her panicked. What would the team think of her if she said she didn't know… well…

Wanda dragged herself to her feet and placed her guitar back into its stand, throwing a spare glance at her desk, which was cluttered with spare pieces of paper. Most of it was practice papers for learning English, a few were recipes for various teas, and others contained god knows what else. It struck her that she hadn't felt this way since before the bombing. Her face fell into a frown.

She walked over to her bed and sat back down, half a mind to turn the TV on and watch something, but instead she just looked at her reflection; brown hair that straddled the bar between organized and out of control, with some strands sticking out of place or some edges curling at the ends, and Wanda stared into her reflection, just making out the dry, cracked lips that she always promised herself she'd take care of with chapstick, and forgotten about again. Wanda Maximoff surveyed the young woman holding her gaze with exhausted, unsettled eyes.

Then she shook her head firmly, forcing herself to her feet. No. She glanced at the windows, noting to setting sun, and made the executive decision. She marched out of her room, shutting the door a bit more sharply than perhaps she should have.

She ran through her breathing techniques as she made her way to the courtyard. Fresh air would do her some good, just might - she was aware she was reaching with both hands, yet didn't care - get her out of this funk. Affirm something. Possibly.

The hallways felt labyrinthine. Constricting. She needed to get out of this polished modernity. In some sense. Any sense. Any way. She had to. The doorhandle was cold as she pushed it open, but the sunlight felt warm against her skin. Not quite rejuvenating, but leagues above the sterile fluorescents of the compound's interior. She noticed that Peter was running labs, a few steps behind Steve. She blinked, then shook her head, rolled her eyes, stretched out the kinks in her neck, and made a beeline for the box of shields Steve had taken to keeping outside.

She sifted through them until she found the heaviest one, which was very difficult for her to carry - thing had to weigh at least eighty pounds - and gently set it at her feet. She then closed her eyes, and felt the familiar rush of her powers before picking it up. It weighed far less this way.. Wanda opened her eyes and made it do a figure eight, focusing intently as to keep it perfect, then began spelling out the Sokovian alphabet. She kept the motions of her hands steady, even as pain began to grow in her temple. Within mere moments the small pain grew massive, but she pressed onward.

By the time she set it down with nary an extraneous sound, her forehead had thin layer of sweat, which she wiped with the back of her hand. Satisfaction bloomed, just a bit, amidst the aching of her head.

She felt a gaze on her, and saw Steve tapping Peter's shoulder like _it's rude to stare, _but the boy ignored him. His jaw was slack and wonder shone in his eyes, before Steve finally managed to get him running again. The teenager swiftly grew a large blush, stuttered something. Wanda couldn't hear it.

Her eyes fell on the practice shield. It felt good - no, wonderful - to have so much control over it. Over anything. She'd spent so long at the whims of others, trying to convince herself that she was free when she was relentlessly under the thumb of another - or herself. And it… it felt… well, _now _it felt…

Wanda could feel the thoughts come back just a second before her internal debates roared back to life, slightly hindered by her exhaustion, but still strong as ever.

* * *

Justin wanted this day to be over with. Over with, then promptly tossed into the garbage bin of his brain so he could forget it all. He had assistants whose job it was to recall all of the necessary details. His was to run the company. Farther than that, he had real matters of import on his mind, instead of dealing with these idiots.

The man across from him was right out of a Boss Tweed cartoon. He stank of greed. No better purpose to him or the practiced smile he was wearing; Justin felt bile rise in the back of his throat, but he maintained a smile of his own nonetheless. The dying daylight made the shadows long and lazy, and the stainless steel HI outside cast a shadow longer twice that of Justin himself.

There were others in the room, all in finely pressed suits, each of them to varying degrees exasperated and tired. This meeting should have concluded hours ago, and yet the small manufacturer Justin was trying to acquire was never satisfied with whatever deal his people managed to negotiate. It had been at least eight years since he'd suffered through this breed of corporate sewage, and he wasn't as young as he was.

He also had another meeting with Rumlow today, and while the man understood the nature of their partnership, that Zemo character did not. Rumlow was the muscle and Justin was the money. Zemo was the weirdo who crashed their party and who they can't get rid of without risking getting raided by a SWAT team.

Justin knew, in theory, that Zemo could help. He already had; Justin had been concerned that a few of his employees were about to flip to the police a few days before, and when he woke this morning, prepared to ask Rumlow to cause some car accidents, he saw in the news that all parties he was concerted over were now tragedies. Justin knew, in theory, that that was a good sign.

But Zemo was just… unnerving. His eyes changed color often because he kept one switching between different colored contacts, and while he clearly lacked the bulk Rumlow did, Justin had seen what happened to the guys who sparred with him. His entire demeanor was far too steady - too sterile, too aloof for someone who did what that man could do. He'd burned the bodies of the married couple he'd killed, then hacked into local airports to order tickets for a vacation in Europe, and then broken into the systems of the airport where they took off from and where they landed. Despite having never actually left their house, the couple was currently skiing in the Alps.

He had told Justin and Rumlow that story without any sort of inflection in his voice. No satisfaction, like Justin would have expected from Rumlow, just matter-of-fact statements. And even if the man didn't lower the temperature of the room by fifteen degrees whenever he entered, he'd just… inserted himself into Justin and Rumlow's agreement. No warning. Justin didn't like that.

Justin deepened his smile as the negotiations concluded. He shook hands with everyone present, while his mind made a heel-face turn to another subject that was knawing at him: Peter Parker.

Kid was smart. Amazing, really; a walking miracle by any normal metric. Naïve, obviously, but give him a few years... Justin was trying to keep the kid as close as he could manage. For the his sake.

He turned to his assistant as he waved the rest of the representatives away. "Has Mr. Parker responded to our emails?"

The young man adjusted his glasses, whose silver frames reflected garishly in the light. "Not yet, Mr. Hammer. We will tell you when he does."

"Send a few more." Justin said, "And if he still doesn't respond, I'll be paying SI a visit."

"Of course, Mr. Hammer."

Justin swiftly made his way to his office, grabbing a cup of coffee and then promptly turning around and heading toward his car.

No hitches on the way to Rumlow's hideout. Justin's drivers were the same as they always were: silent. It left Justin with his thoughts, and gave him time to drink his coffee before he arrived. It seared the back of his throat, making his eyes water heavily, but he downed the entire cup fast as he could.

Rumlow as at his table when Justin walked in; he was narrowing his eyes at his map of the US, with a pin poised above Nevada. Zemo sat in a chair - Justin's chair, thank you very much - watching a TV showing local coverage of Justin himself; notably, loops of his last press conference, and one of the commentators was very bemused over whether or not HI was going to die in the next quarter.

"They're not even using the stuff with my good side," Justin grumbled, taking a seat at the end of the table. Zemo turned his eyes to him, face flat. Rumlow looked up from the map, with purple-rimmed eyes.

"How did your deal go?" he asked scratchily.

"Fine." Justin shrugged. "Did you drink anything at all today?"

Rumlow narrowed his eyes, while Zemo kept up an incredible face of apathy. "We got someone to flip."

Justin blinked. "Really?"

Rumlow nodded, and a faint grin stretched across his face. Justin really, really didn't like how that looked. "Yep. Zemo provided some help."

Rumlow jabbed his thumb toward Zemo who, like the freakshow he was, gave no sign of emotion. He nodded, but nothing else. Justin wasn't sure if hearing the guy speak was better or worse than his silent stare.

"Well, uh," he said, "are they someone important?"

Rumlow's grin deepened. The pinkish scar tissue that racked his face took an uncomfortable shape. "Not unless you consider running the compound's plumbing as important."

Justin frowned. He didn't know much of military tactics or plumbing, but he could hardly see how useful that would be. There was no way that anyone there didn't know how to swim, and he wasn't sure how plumbing was going kill the Avengers.

"Got any ideas what to do with him?" Justin asked cautiously. "'Cause Parker hasn't responded to any of my emails yet. I was planning to visit SI to send a message, but unless we plan to kill him during his shower-" Justin didn't like saying the words, but. "-what can we do?"

Rumlow stood to his full height. "That plumber has connections, Mr. Hammer." his grin became something that showed the yellowing one the bottoms of his teeth. "And yeah, I've got a few."


	24. Chapter 24

**Sorry for not updating last week - needed to let my batteries recharge. I'm back, though, and I have a plan! Please enjoy the chapter while I fortify my author-bunker. **

* * *

**Tony knew **that, ideally, he shouldn't seek out the kid with an ulterior motive. It wasn't very hero-y, and considering that his curiosity about Natasha Romanoff's son was almost entirely self-centered, it was even more divorced from altruism. That said, from the moment tony laid eyes on the kid, with the phrase "Natasha's kid" being sung by a choir of his lesser angels, he knew he had to know who hell Peter Parker was. But he'd also been spending hours upon hours working with Nat, trying to work out their Vulture problem, and everyone deserved a break. So this - well, it could've been worse.

Kind of.

As such, he strode into the conference room, one of the compound's numerous, which had been converted into a makeshift classroom, at 2:30 PM sharp that wednesday. Tony swept away the thought that it would soon be three weeks since Peter arrived at the compound, and Natasha hadn't so much as laid an eye on him.

"Hey, young buck," Tony said, while Peter's tutor froze in his tracks. He raised an eyebrow to the tutor, a kindly woman who looked to be in her fifties. Peter's face was flushing impressively as he asked her, "School gets out right about now, right?"

Papers were clustered on the long, oval-shaped table, with topics that reached the dull basics of chemistry and physics to the vaguely interesting accounts of the chinese dynasties. Peter was going beet red, eyes settled squarely on his ratty tennis shoes. Peter's tutor cleared her throat, still looking a bit disbelieving. "Yes, it does."

"Mind if I steal him away?" Tony pointed to Peter, entirely certain as to why he was about to make a wisecrack and not very comfortable with it. "It's for SSL hours."

Peter gave a stifled giggle. His tutor took another moment, then shrugged. "Do you want to come with Mr. Stark, Peter?"

Peter Parker (Romanoff) blinked a few times, then hesitantly raised his head to return Tony's gaze. "That, uh," he began, "That sounds great."

Tony tried not to notice the bags under Peter's eyes, or the fear that stuck out on his face like a cold sore. Or the way the boy's hair lightly curled up at the edges, almost like - well, in fairness, like Natasha's hair sometimes did. Either way...

Tony nodded. "Great. Zip up that backpack there and let's down to the lab."

Peter's eyes widened. "L-lab?"

Tony nodded again. "Yep. My personal lab. You're uh - your chemistry project last year, the one about erosion of New York's sewer pipes, right? I'm curious as to how you got your data. I'd like you to show me, Mr. Parker."

Maybe he put a little emphasis on r's, but in any case, there were only two people who would even fathom to make a logical leap from there. Peter was scrambling to collect his things in his backpack - which Tony knew he'd only gotten a few weeks ago, because the kid was a total klutz with those things since he decided vigilantism was a fun way to spend an afternoon - while his tutor was watching the exchange with poorly hidden curiosity.

When Parker (Romanoff) looked up, some of the fear had left his face, replaced with naked excitement. Tony escorted the kid out of the room swiftly, a snarky part of his noting with some satisfaction that if the light hit Peter's hair _just _right, it appeared to be a very deep shade of crimson.

Okay. This was probably getting a little creepy, but Tony… he couldn't just look at the kid. Look at him and say nothing while his mother was off doing work that could kill her couldn't sit right with him.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter asked.

"Yeah?" Tony said, "Something biting at you, kid?"

"You…" the boy paused, as if the words were difficult to say, "You aren't just - uhm, I mean, like, you weren't just…" Peter licked his lips, then stuffed his hands into the massive front pocket of his hoodie, distorting the _Millenium Falcon _a good bit. "... lying, weren't you?"

Now Tony was the one blinking. "What?"

"You know," the kid scratched the back of his neck, "You don't just - I mean, I'm sure you care about the sewer thing, but…"

Tony snorted, rolling his eyes as they turned a corner. "Don't worry about that kid."

Peter nodded a tad too vigorously, "Yeah. Yeah, right. Sorry, Mr. Stark."

"Don't apologize." Tony said, "Anyways, to answer that burning question of yours, yes. I could care less about the sewer thing." he stopped them in front of a glass door. He punched the code into the door handle, and ushered Peter in brusquely. "I actually wanted to talk about your suit."

Peter's head snapped back to stare at him. "Oh."

Tony raised an eyebrow at him. "Jesus, you don't have to react like I'm about to give you a bad report card. I'm genuinely interested."

Peter swallowed. "T-thanks, Mr. Stark. That - that means a lot." His head turned back to Tony's lab, surveying everything. Tony stepped up beside the kid, whose eyes briefly flickered over to him, then returned to taking in the lab. "T-this is…"

"I have a bigger one in Malibu." Tony shrugged. "Not the same house, by the way."

Peter's hands were still buried deep in his hoodie's front pocket. The teen inclined his head, walking over to a spare workbench, where a heavily scorched Iron Man mask rested against an old toolbox. Tony observed one of his hands begin creeping out of his hoodie, before Peter paused.

"Uhm," he began, "What's that?"

Tony walked over to the mask, frowning as he picked it up. "It's… huh. Yeah, okay. This is one of my old tries at nanotech. Looks like it's from…" Tony turned the mask over in his hands, squinting at the date he'd written in sharpie. "... three months ago."

Before he knew Natasha had a kid. A kid that was standing right next to him; walking, talking, breathing, and asking him questions. Who looked up to all of them as heroes.

Because he didn't know him. Peter didn't know any of them, because Natasha didn't want the kid involved with her life. Therefore, she didn't raise him around the team, therefore, he didn't know the team.

Part of Tony meekly pointed out that his train of thought was spiraling, but he didn't care overmuch.

Because Peter Parker (Romanoff… it still didn't sound quite right) thought Mary Parker had given birth to him, and that his parents were dead, and while Tony knew he shouldn't be doing what he was doing, he conjured up the image of Peter standing in front of Natasha's headstone, conflicted.

Tony narrowed his eyes and internally smacked himself. "It's not much, honestly." He glanced at Peter, who was in turn looking at him with a bit of alarm. Tony quickly added, "I'm not mad at you kid. This thing just gave me a nasty burn the last time I tested it."

Peter better have bought his bullshit, because Tony didn't need psychoanalyzation by anyone right now, expressed to him or not.

"What happened?" Peter peered at the mask with curiosity, his lip curling downward a bit. Good.

Okay, maybe not the best, because Tony could see the ghost of Natasha's frown at the moment, but it was better than the alternative. "I tried to see if I could store the suit in the mask - put the mask on, and the suit comes - yeah, you know what I mean." He set down the broken hardware and paced a few steps, beckoning Peter to follow. "Anyways, I got everything in there, and when I test it for the first time - it blows up in my face."

Peter's mouth further took on the concave of a frown. "I thought you said it burned you?"

Tony stopped for a second. He recovered himself quickly, but the damage was probably done, knowing him. "Did I? Sorry, I wasn't running on a lot of sleep then. Either way, Steve wasn't happy with me."

Amusement flickered across Peter's face, which Tony was thankful for. He snapped his fingers, making a blue hologram of Peter's supersuit appear, next to a prototype that Tony had thrown together over the past few weeks. "But this what I really wanted to talk to you about, kid."

Peter's eyes grew wide, and his jaw gradually slackened as he studied the holograms, eventually saying in a small voice, "T-thank you Mr. Stark."

Tony waved his hand, "It's nothing special yet."

Peter looked at him, face reddened, with a smile fighting it's way across it. "I - thanks, Mr. Stark. Sorry."

Tony shrugged. "Stop saying sorry, kid."

Peter Parker nodded, and in the back of Tony's mind, part of him wondered what Natasha would do him when she found out about this.

* * *

Natasha studied a map of New York's chitauri energy signatures , arms crossed. Steve stood to her left, frowning as he studied it as well.

"Vulture's moving," he said, "the signature for his weapons are too scattered."

"Yep." Natasha responded, pulling her focus away from a signature in Queens. "Guessing Rumlow must've said something."

Steve turned to her. "You think we have a mole in the team?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "No. Do you?"

Steve shook his head resolutely. "No. No, I just…" Natasha let him trail off, watched the cogs turn in his head. "... something's off."

"About what?" Natasha asked him. She wasn't entirely sure why she was attempting to prompt him, but she had a bad feeling it was related to the tightening she felt whenever she had spoken to May in the past two and a half weeks.

"The kid." Steve sighed. "I don't know why he was targeted."

Natasha paused minutely, before she nodded. "I see."

Steve crossed his own arms. "Penny for your thoughts, Nat?"

"Well," Natasha said, "I've had a similar thought for a while, now, too. I've been doing plenty of digging, looking for a potential third party, but nothing's come up. The police still haven't caught the shooter and even then, I still don't have a clear shot of his face."

It had been many late nights in actuality, but no one needed to know that. No one would need to know about the feeling in her gut during those hours, a lasso of bile and disgust that had nowhere to go except to fuel single thought. She'd been able to broadly exclude it from her thoughts, but it never _truly _left.

Steve's frown deepened a bit. "Does he have any tattoos? Unique features?"

"Not that I've been able to see," Natasha shrugged. "Standard cacucasion male. Looks like he came from the Baltics, but millions of people live there, none of whom have any connection to us or the kid."

"I wish he didn't have to go through this," Steve grumbled, "He has so much potential."

"I'm sure we'll find the shooter," Natasha said, squaring her shoulders. "But until then, we should probably focus on this. If he get rid of Rumlow's local supplier, he'll be less of a problem."

"You're right," Steve uncrossed his arms, redirecting his eyes back to the map of New York. "It seems like Vulture is operating mostly out of this abandoned industrial district," Steve pointed to it, right over a collection of purple dots. "But he's recently moved to areas farther from the city."

"FRIDAY, can you look for any deals being done in or around companies associated with Hammer Industries?" Natasha asked.

_"Of course, Ms. Romanoff. I remind you that I have run a search with these parameters fifteen times before."_

"Just do it." Natasha briefly looked up toward the ceiling, then back to the map. Steve shifted, leaning back a bit, studying the map harder. Natasha noticed his eyes kept creeping over to Brooklyn.

_"Search complete. No anomalies found."_

"We already know what gangs Vulture has been selling to," Natasha said, "but none of them appear to have HYDRA ties. And most of the people who conduct the deals are given the weapons are predetermined locations, and those don't have anything in common with each other."

"Compartmentalization." Steve stated. "What? I do listen to Nick sometimes, Nat."

Natasha shook her head, tightening her arms a bit. Rumlow had been quiet, and so had Hammer. It also wouldn't do for her to interrogate him, because he was legally doing everything above book. His shell companies had upgraded their security to the point that FRIDAY was still sorting through all of their financials (not a single one so far had actually held anything suspicious, either). Rumlow's mercenary group had never had a name to begin with, and even his previous hirers had nothing to tell any members of the team.

Natasha could feel the frustration building, and thusly she stamped it out. "Fri," she began, "could you look at any salvage companies that had been hired after the chitauri invaded?"

Steve looked to her in surprise. "Was that a random request or are you throwing ideas at the wall?"

"Bit of both." Natasha answered evenly, surveying the map again. After a list of salvage companies appeared in front of the map, she said, "Fri, who ran each of those companies, and which ones went belly-up after Damage Control took over Salvage."

Steve's frown faded, replaced with curiosity. "Burst of inspiration from the mighty Natasha Romanoff?"

The edges of Nat's lips quirked up a bit, before flattening as another list appeared in front of the first. "FRIDAY, can tell if any of these guys have suspicious tax returns?"

A moment of silence passed, where Steve slowly began to smile. Natasha stayed zeroed in on the list of names.

_"None, Ms. Romanoff. Although one does strike me as suspicious."_

"Do tell." Natasha said.

_"Adrian Toomes. Former owner of Bestman Salvage, whose crew was pushed out after Damage Control took over government contracts. He has taken on other contracts in recent years, but his house is worth almost a million dollars. He also didn't return a round of salvage that his team had collected before they lost the contract."_

Steve turned to Nat, grinning. "Nice work."

Natasha felt the lasso loosen just a bit. "Thanks."


	25. Chapter 25

** What the **hell did Tony think he was doing?

Natasha was in the kitchen when Tony strolled in, an open bottle of gatorade in hand, trying to cover up his apprehensiveness. He tried for a nonplussed expression, but his grip one the gatorade was too tight; she could see something was eating at him by the way his free fingers flexed and unflexed, too tense to be normal. Now, the team had been briefed on the Vulture's identity, but they had little reason to fear Adrian Toomes. She immediately raised an eyebrow.

"Tony," she said slowly, "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

Tony didn't answer her immediately. He elected to give the room a good visual sweeping, then asked, "Hey, Fri, where is the rest of the team?"

_"Mr. Rogers is in his quarters, planning Mr. Toomes' arrest and writing his speech for the upcoming fundraiser for the New York Public Library. Mr. Wilson is training with his falcon apparatus, Ms. Maximoff is speaking with Vision in your lab, and Colonel Rhodes is out on assignment. Mrs. Parker is having dinner with Peter."_

Tony frowned. "Uh, Fri, she's not-"

_"No offense, boss, but I thought it would calm your nerves."_

Natasha raised another eyebrow, standing up to her full height. Tony held her eyes for a moment, then looked at the floor. "Thanks."

_"Anytime, boss."_

"Why do you sound happy?"

_"I'm an AI, boss. I don't have emotions."_

Tony cast a brief glance at Natasha again, who could already feel incredulity forming in her gut. He grunted. "Right."

FRIDAY didn't respond, leaving the two in silence for a few moments, as Tony settled himself at the table, taking a swig of his gatorade. "Are you just gonna look disappointed until I talk?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You came here. I assumed you'd be doing the talking."

Tony looked away a third time, head spinning. Another space of silence passed before he finally let out a long sigh. "So, uh, I talked to you - the kid."

Natasha's raised eyebrows shot downward, and the incredulity burst up like a guyeser. She marched over to Tony while the man looked back tiredly, grabbing his neck. She squeezed a pressure point, making Tony groan and attempt to get away from her. Natasha responded by pressing the point of her boot on his toes in his right shoe.

"Are you kidding me?" she said. "Are you trying to blow this up?"

"Please, let go," Tony wheezed, wincing. Natasha increased the pressure. "Please."

Natasha took another moment of pressure, ramping up before easing off on Tony's neck. Her boot shifted, so instead of grinding into his toes, it was prepared to stomp on them if need be. Tony tried to quell his nervousness. "Explain."

"Well, uh, funny story," Tony began, "You see, I thought that, for him - it would be kinda weird, wouldn't it, for not to interact with the kid, seeing as how Steve has been? Also, he's a total genius. Brilliant, you should-"

Natasha glared.

Tony's eyes jumped toward the table, then back to her. "Okay, that's crap. But, uhm - hmm. See, what I - what I'm trying to say is that I, uh." Tony took in Natasha's face, full of cold, exasperated rage. "I just wanted to get to know him."

Natasha's lips twisted into a frown. "You could have ruined his life."

Tony blinked. "How would finding out his mom's an avenger ruin anything?" he shook his head, "Nat, he loves us." Tony paused, weighing his words. "And uh," _Don't, Tony. For the love of- _"I'm sure he'd love you. You're his mom."

Natasha's hand was back on his neck in a flash, and not a moment later white-hot fire made Tony shut his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath.

"I was an incubator," Natasha said evenly, "Incubators don't have feelings. The second they came out, they were taken away." Natasha increased the pressure, "They were forced on me when I was sixteen." Natasha's nails cut light trenches into Tony's skin. His eyes bulged. "That child is offspring, Stark, and for all intents and purposes, the only family they have is May Parker. Understand?"

Tony's eyes were beginning to water. He nodded swiftly, and Natasha eased the pressure off his neck slowly, over thirty achingly long seconds. He gasped as Natasha stepped back from him, watching the man massage his neck impassively.

"When you do see them," Natasha said, "You will be cordial. Say you're busy if they ever ask to come into your lab again, and if I find out you've been taking them there behind my back," Natasha's neutral features appeared even scarier than her aggravated ones as she leaned back into his personal space. "Your death will be a bloody, tragic accident after this is all over."

Tony nodded again, as he blinked the water out of his eyes. "Does," he coughed. _Don't do it, Tony, _don't- "Does Clint know?"

The thought hadn't crossed his mind until then because - well, hrm, probably because he was too busy projecting to actually think about it. Or what Natasha might do to him if he talked to Peter. Or how one of his teammates had a secret kid the entire time that he'd known her, and that kid was now staying with them. Or how Peter was even conceived; sure, he'd guessed that Natasha hadn't chosen to have a child, but...

_You're an asshole, Tony. _

Natasha looked very ready to slap him. "No. And if you do anything to clue him in, you will lose everything in your lab."

Tony nodded for the third time. Natasha turned away from him and went back to making herself a dinner, while Tony failed to keep himself from looking at her, a mix of self-disgust, derision, and sadness slowly building up in his windpipe.

Natasha, without looking at him, asked, "Something else on your mind?"

Tony finally dragged himself to his feet, sighing heavily again. "No."

Natasha said, "Do what I told you too."

"Right." Tony said, turning on his heel and swiftly exiting the room, grabbing his gatorade along the way. He took a long drink of it as he exited, feeling even worse than he thought he would.

* * *

Natasha sat at the kitchen table fifteen minutes later, a plate of rice, greens, and chicken in front of her, none of which she had an interest in.

She supposed she shouldn't have expected much better from Stark, yet even so, she was furious. That self-centered idiot could destroy the remaining distance she had left, and all because he couldn't separate his own memories from reality.

Howard Stark was a terrible father. Natasha was… absent. Absent for good reason, absent because she had to be; she deserved to make her own choices, and even if she ignored that, by the time she was in any state to raise anything, they already had a loving family. They were a Parker in every aspect save for blood, but even there, blood wasn't necessarily what made a family. The team was proof of that.

Natasha got up from her chair and as fast as she could, began tucking her food away in tupperware. It would most definitely be cold by the time she actually ate any of it, but that wasn't what mattered. As long as she ate it, she would be fine. She put the lids on the containers a bit too aggressively, which made her pause for a moment, before she left the room briskly.

Natasha knew she had to put away the food before she could make it to the gym. She had no desire to, but she deposited it on her desk, realizing just a moment before she turned to leave that she'd forgotten to grab utensils. Natasha blinked, glancing down at her hands, to the tupperware, and then to the surface of her laptop, whose reflection of her wasn't exactly flattering. Briefly, a glare began to cut across her face, before she shook her head. Everyone made mistakes.

But as she wove through the halls toward the gym, her headspace wasn't quiet. Her own words replayed, sharp, cutting, and far too provocative. Part of her was replaying conversations with May, seeing the picture in the Parkers' apartment; kept repeating that more words had been exchanged-

Natasha shook her head once more, picking up her pace. Within a few more minutes, she was able to push the door to the gym open, grabbing a pair of hand wraps and boxing gloves. She took on a ready stance in front of the bag, squaring her shoulders and taking in a deep breath.

The incredulity was long gone by now. Old emotions had tagged themselves in, and as such Natasha imagined them in the forms of her many, many enemies.

The first punch she threw didn't move the bag much. She could feel the impact on her knuckles through her protection. It was like getting bitten by a mosquito. Her next punch came when the bag as the perfect distance away, and the bag began to sway a bit. She threw two hooks in quick succession, then an uppercut, followed by a round kick.

The bag was properly swaying now. She had to time her strikes just right to make sure she didn't over or undershoot, but Natasha regarded that as nothing more than a challenge to overcome. By the time she actually started to sweat, her knuckles groaned with every punch, and her toes were complaining alongside them. In response, Natasha caught the bag, making its movements still, and began another round, putting twice the effort in.

By the time she was finished, the anger hadn't abated. Timing made it so the visages of her old emotions being battered and bruised, running away with their tails between their legs, had yet to form. And forming them in her minds' eye as she stretched felt remarkably childish, if she was honest with herself. She avoided looking at the mirrors that lined the walls as she left the gym.

It took her an hour and a half to fall asleep that night.


	26. Chapter 26

** "Hey," Captain **America said, making Peter look up at him. "Try not to think so much. No one will judge you if you punch it into the wall," Captain America gestured to the punching bag in front of Peter, whose fingers were twitching in the hand wraps they were in. Peter wasn't used to something so tight - it felt constricting in a really, really bad way. Mr. America (Captain? Peter knew the man wanted him to call him Steve, but it just… didn't feel quite right) gave him an encouraging smile. "Which I've done, by the way. Multiple times."

Peter nodded, scratching his palms a bit as he clenched his fists. He made sure to keep his thumb on the outside of his fists. The boy took on a ready stance like he'd seen in the self-defense tutorials he'd watched, but his feet shifted against the ground, and he couldn't shake the painful self-awareness that he was probably making a fool of himself in front of Captain Freaking America. "Okay."

"Uppercut." said, and Peter obeyed. The bag barely moved, but white-hot pain shot through his knuckles.

Peter's stance melted as he massaged his metacarpals. "What is that thing made of?"

Captain America gave him a small frown. "Is your hand alright, son? I could find some of the gloves Tony designed for me if you'd like."

Peter's cheeks pinked. "Uh, no need! I - I'm fine, sir. I just don't really punch that many people." He threw both hands out like he was shooting webs. "Pew pew! Y'know?"

Peter most certainly didn't think about the weapon. How the last time he'd gotten close to a criminal he'd been shot, or how much it _hurt. _

Definitely not.

"It's Steve," the avenger said, "But I understand. Your bones aren't as strong as they could be. Let me grab my gloves."

He gestured for Peter to follow him, and with only a little reluctance, Peter did. His knuckles groaned as he walked. As he was getting two massive boxing gloves out of a thick metal case with a large "A" engraved on the top, the Captain asked him, "Where did you learn to fight, Peter? Did you have a teacher?"

Peter shifted his footing. Leaning on his right foot a bit, he responded quietly, "No-one, sir. Just…" Peter cringed, "the internet. I didn't want May to know about what I was doing, so… yeah. No-one."

Captain America frowned down at him, then his face morphed into a kind, if somber, smile. "Well, you have someone now. But I only want you to use this to defend yourself for now, alright? Your aunt said that's as far as I could go."

When Captain Freaking America had approached him with an offer to train with him to help get a better grasp on his powers, May hadn't said much. A small nod giving permission, and a tight smile and hug before he was lead away, but… it was still weird for Peter. A bit. Mainly, it was the thought that Captain America was following May's orders. Sure, he'd known that fact for weeks. Yeah. But it never ceased to strike him, and make him feel a small bit of pride. Parker Pride.

"Okay." he said, then took in the Captain's boxing gloves. They were massive: at least two to three times the size of his hands, with small microtears along the part that hit the bags. He wondered exactly what it must've been like for Mr. Stark to design them. It made him smile a bit, imagining Iron Man sketching out a diagram for boxing gloves. "Those are, ah, pretty big."

Captain America's smile brightened a bit. "Yeah. The guy they were made for is a bit bigger than you."

Peter managed a laugh, just before part of him wondered if he even deserved to have this chance. He tried to shut the thought down, but another piece of his mind had already fired back that this was necessary. Peter recalled the sickening _pop! _of the thug's shoulder, and the glow of the weapon in his hand; how he nearly destroyed is laptop's keyboard in the first few weeks after he got his powers; the fire in his right hand after the first time he tested his superstrength, and the hole he had driven into the brick wall. He shook his head and attempted to get his hands inside the gloves.

They felt unbearably awkward. He had to put some effort into actually raising them to his face. His hands felt insignificant. Peter was wondering if he would ever get big enough to wear gloves like these, as Captain America said, "You don't have to use them if you don't want to. I know they're a bit awkward."

As Peter nodded, his mind flickered back to the long, long talk he and May had had about his "training" after the first day. May had gently escorted him to the food court, asking questions with a sharper note than Peter was used to.

"Did he push you too hard?"

"Not really."

"Did he do anything you weren't comfortable with?"

"No, May. It's fine, he was really cool!"

"You said he had you running laps. Did he make sure you stretched first?"

"Yeah."

"Good." May pushed open the doors to the compound's cantine, and as the two of them grabbed food, Peter swore she looked kinda down. He wanted to ask about it,, but the words were catching on the tip of his tongue. They hadn't really discussed, well, a lot of the finer, rockier points of relocating to the compound. Or his lies. Or why he lied.

May lead him to a table in the far left corner of the cantine. Peter sat down across from her, trying to pull his eyes away from the terf outside the cantine. The setting sun gave it a very particular beauty, as orange-yellow light washed over it. The forest in the distance cast long shadows, stubborn, evergrowing divots.

"Pete," May began carefully, "I'd like to talk to your powers."

Peter's blood chilled to the bone. Of course, he felt his face begin to heat up at the same time, because sense was long gone. He'd jumped at least ten sharks in the span of half a year, this shouldn't have come as a surprise. It still was, of course.

"W-what about them?" Peter asked.

"Why did you decide to…" May paused for a moment, speering a piece of lettuce in her salad. Were forks really that loud? "... become a vigilante?" the words felt painfully awkward. Another reminder that he shouldn't have even- "I love you, Peter," she reached across the table and took his hands in her own, "I always will. You were great before you got these - before this all started." she forced a smile, "You had nothing to prove by jumping off rooftops."

Peter sat stock still, face red, attempted poker face collapsing and forming up over and over again, mind racing as he tried to find the proper words. May was right: he didn't have anything to prove. Not - not that badly, anyways. No. He had nothing to prove. "I…"

"I noticed that you weren't sleeping," May said quietly, "I know teenagers aren't very good about that, so I didn't mention it, but I saw it." she squeezed his hands tightly. "I saw your grades drop, too, Pete. I didn't say anything." her grip tightened. "I saw you with bruises and I bought your excuses because I wanted to let you grieve," her grip loosened, but at the same time, her gaze hardened somewhat. "But going out there won't bring Ben back. You don't have to do this in honor of him."

Peter's throat felt indescribably dry. He _knew _that Spiderman wasn't going to bring Ben back. That was the whole reason he'd made the suit in the first place. Ben wasn't coming back. Ben wasn't coming back, and it was his fault. It was his responsibility. "I…"

May's gaze was sympathetic, but steady. The smell of Peter's pad thai was almost sickening. The conversations of the compound staff going on in the other side of the cantine were too loud. Peter's heart was thumping in his chest. He looked outside, then to his Aunt, at their food, to May, to the other people, outside, his food, her food, May, the other people-

Peter's breathing was picking up in pace. "It's… it's _not-_" He swallowed thickly, "I'm not trying to bring him back."

Peter bowed his head, staring at his lap. "When you can - you can what I can. You can't just… sit there. I can't sit here and do nothing while other people get hurt. I don't want anyone else to-" he swallowed again, "to…"

"Peter," May said, "They aren't your responsibility. You don't have to save the world."

"I'm not trying to." Peter said. "I just want to help people."

"You're putting yourself in danger," May said, "If you wanted to help, you could've volunteered at an animal shelter. You don't have to fight to make the world a better place."

Peter nodded slowly. "I… I guess."

"I can set you up with a position at the hospital," May said, "Or we can go to that animal shelter. Remember the one? Where Ned's mother volunteers. We can get you training and you can help that way." May squeezed his hands again, "Okay?"

Peter felt bile rocketing up in his throat and flooded his veins, wrapping around him tightly. "Okay."

"Hey, buddy," Captain America said, "you with me?"

Peter blinked, then nodded. "Sorry," he chuckled, "Spaced out there."

"It's alright," Captain Freaking America said gently, "Now, give me a cross this time."

Peter nodded, tightening his already clenched fists. He threw all his weight into the cross, and the bag went flying several feet. He lost balance and stumbled backward as his hand burned.

* * *

May took a deep breath, rubbing her eyes as she let loose an obnoxious yawn. It was only three in the afternoon, but the time here was odd. At points, it went by in blurs and flashes. She could sit down in their library and get paperwork done in droves, from nine to five like it was one of the few days the hospital let her telework. At others, the hours seemed immutable, set in stone. Each second that passed would be filled with a poignant mix of disappointment and concern, every minute chock-full of harsh mental whispering about the current situation.

Natasha had yet to seek Peter out. That was reasonable. May could understand her concerns; once the shock had worn off, the knowledge that her nephew was related to the best assassin in the world was terrifying. She and Ben had considered setting Peter up with a counselor, just in case he showed any dangerous signs. They hadn't gone through with it, but May was very seriously reconsidering it now. She didn't enjoy the idea of using someone else's money, but she knew that if she genuinely asked for it, it would probably be provided.

She finished typing an email and sent it with a small click. The room around her had fine, blue-grey carpets with a tall glass ceiling and bookshelves about as high to boot. Her armchair was plush and primly held together by stitching that probably cost more than her salary. She adjusted her glasses as she closed her computer, closing her eyes, immersing herself in the silence of the library.

Occasionally, she would see Steve Rogers come in and take a book off the shelves. He would sit in one of the other armchairs, and read for hours at a time. More often than not he read, strangely, political-science novels, with an occasional sprinkling of autobiographies or memoirs by famous artists. He would always give a congenial "Hi" when he came in, and when she didn't leave before he did, he would occasionally ask if he could get her anything. Captain America asking if she needed her water bottle refilled was a gesture she never thought she would ever be witness too or be on the receiving end of, but it was kind of him.

May got up and stretched putting her computer back into her bag. She knew that right now, Peter was with Steve training, which she only disliked by a quarter. Yes, she understood the why of it - she'd approved it - but she hated the idea that her nephew would be learning how to fight. Peter wasn't built for that world, and she was loathe to imagine what could happen to him.

Brushing the thought aside for the moment, May decided to take an hour or two to herself. A long, warm bath felt very much over earned at this point.

She found the way to her and Peter's shared suite and entered her bathroom. As she drew herself a bath, her mind circled back to a questions that had become all-too commonplace in recent months: What would Ben think of this? Richard? Mary?

The size of her and Peter's shared quarters was twice that of her apartment. The floors were cleaned every other day by professionals, and while there had been a small problem with the water last week, they had a plumber on it within minutes. She slid into the bath and pondered as the hot water stung her whether or not they would be proud of her performance. Her missteps had been gigantic, but who would even suspect their teenage nephew of developing superpowers? From a school field trip, too. With the fact in her mind everything fell into place, yet part of her was exasperated that it could even fall into place at all. It shouldn't have. This was crazy.

She wondered how Richard and Mary would have handled this. Would they have let her not tell Peter? Hiding it was disturbingly easy, but that hardly made it feel acceptable, especially on certain days. It was, of course, Natasha's choice when it came down to it, but Peter had already lost his "mother". His real one was walking these halls at this very moment, planning the operation that would make it safe to return home, and while the woman was exceptionally well at concealing it, May knew it had to be getting to her; because she herself felt at points like the guilt was eating her alive, and for Natasha it had to be ten times worse.

May finished her bath and dried off, changing into more comfortable clothes, catching a glimpse of Steve running Peter around the facility's track. She turned away and poked her head across the divide separating Peter's part of the quarters from hers. The space had picked up a bit of Peter's natural messiness within days, and his bag, books, and clothes were kept in confined centers of chaos. His bed was undone, and his laptop was open on his desk.

May felt a small, fond smile cross her face. Some things, despite the circumstances, hadn't changed. She went over to the laptop and saw that the light on the left side was still lit. He'd left the computer on; If it hadn't run out of battery by now, it would soon, and Peter wasn't a big fan of chargers. May did her best to keep water away from the old computer as she reached for the power button, but as she did so, her elbow managed to press the spacebar down. The screen immediately blazed to life, and May was face to face with sight that made her heart sink.

Why was Peter checking his email?


	27. Chapter 27

**I know I don't normally do these, but for the time being, I will include this disclaimer in each of my fics:**

**I do not give my consent for any third party to redistribute or charge for access my work. If you are reading this through a third party app that in any way makes money, I ask that you refrain from using it. I posted it here on ffnet: it is already free. Third parties will never have my consent to show my work nor will any app have consent to profit or make money off of my work in any way.**

* * *

**"Pete?" May **asked, "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Her nephew, who had been slowly wilting under her gaze for several minutes now, threw a glance toward his laptop. His eyes flickered back to hers, filled with hesitancy. "I just wanted to…" he made a vague gesture with his hand, "... I dunno."

May rubbed her brow. "Peter, Justin Hammer was lying to you. He doesn't regret anything he's done, alright?"

Peter chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, before a raised eyebrow put a stop to it. "I know."

May felt exasperation like hot coals right against her patience, as she fought the urge to sigh. She needed to get Peter to _listen, _and per usual, a Parker who had made up their mind wasn't going to change it fast.

Funny that.

"Petey," May said earnestly, reaching for his hand, "I know what he said. He almost had me believing him, too." she squeezed his hand tightly, "But he is trying to use you. He put thousands of people in danger for his own ego, Peter," she leaned in a bit, "including you."

Peter looked away and crossed his arms. "I know."

"Okay," May said, letting go and leaning back. "Then why are you looking for his email?"

Peter narrowed his eyes on the floor. "I'm not gonna hurt anyone."

May considered what to say for a moment. Peter had a wary, on edge look about him. He'd dug in his heels, she could tell, even if he was clearly withering under the conversation. She had to do more than just get him to say he was mistaken - he had to believe he was, understand why he was. For his safety.

"Peter," she began slowly, "Do you know how it felt for Ben and I when we lost you at the expo?"

Peter stiffened. He swallowed as his face fell, harsh and swift. He blinked several times, opening his mouth, then closing it. "I-I'm sorry. I'll stop checking."

"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty," May said, pushing her chair away from the table. The canteen's lights had a deceptively unnaturality to them - long, fluorescent overheads like the ones she would have seen in some sort of warehouse, that blended in so well with everything around them that she found herself forgetting they were there unless she was in a situation like this one: pitch darkness outside, so they were the only light source. She walked around to his chair and pulled him to his feet, placing her hands on his shoulders once he was steady. "But I want you to understand that when I think about you seeking Hammer out, that's what I think of."

Peter was still looking at his shoes. His fists were clenched. "I-I'm sorry, May."

"Oh, kiddo," May said, pulling him for a tight hug. "You don't have to be sorry, alright? I'm very disappointed that you didn't tell me you were trying to find him, but…" her mind flickered back to the day when she saw him use his powers for the first time. It had been a league above shocking for her to see him jump and flip and swing with such ease, even if the environment was practically sterile when compared to Queens. She recalled the glances she had thrown Natasha's direction, none of which the woman had returned: she had been completely unreadable, which she hadn't been able to come to a proper conclusion over. "... I love you, Pete, okay? With everything I've got."

For emphasis, she tightened her hold, and placed a kiss on his forehead. "I just want you safe, Peter." The silence she was met with was piercing. She held tight, closing her eyes and carding a hand through his hair. "Pete?"

"Okay," Peter said, relaxing in her arms. His voice was achingly quiet. "Okay. M'sorry."

The pair remained like that for a bit, with May feeling keenly aware that she was, practically, all he had left. He was definitely the only family she had left. She felt small - infinitesimally small, surrounded by giants in a world she didn't understand. She was just a nurse, for God's sake! She dealt in normal tragedies. Paralyzation, comas, loss of limbs. Adopting Peter came from a normal tragedy. She and Ben had agreed to it on the terms that Peter was their nephew, the child of Richard and Mary Parker. Years later it turned out that Peter wasn't Richard or Mary's child, and was connected to supersoldier programs. But, they had been assured that nothing out of the ordinary was likely.

Then Peter got superpowers, didn't tell her or Ben, Ben was shot, and May was negligent enough to let her own kid run around as a vigilante night. Signs piled up and she did nothing tangible to stop Peter from sneaking out, nor did she take any action that could have stopped the look in Peter's eyes whenever the topic of Spiderman cropped up. There was a determination there, now: her nephew had crossed some sort of threshold, she could tell. One there was no going back from, one that gave no do-overs. She might be able to stop him from pursuing that path for a time - she was still his aunt and he was still fourteen - but in four years? Three years?

One?

The canteen was empty, save for them, and Peter's food was going cold, spewing delicious fumes into the stillness around it. May was dimly aware that compound security would be starting their patrols soon, and that this moment could be shattered at any second by God knows what, but she savored it all the same. She tried to vent all of the frustration she felt into the hug, praying that she could somehow communicate to her nephew just how desperately she wanted him to stay safe.

"I love you, you know." she told him, "I love you so much."

* * *

Team meetings.

Tony's favorite time of year.

He had arrived early to get settled, and was met with Steve sitting at the table, looking at something on his phone. He was wearing a navy long-sleeve shirt, which of course fit him perfectly, a frown on his face.

"Where's that great American smile, eh?" Tony said, sitting down across from him. Steve looked up at him, with a pensive aura about him. His jaw was a bit too taught to be normal. "Is something up, Cap?"

Steve turned his phone off and placed it facedown on the table. "I suppose, yes."

Tony hoped he covered his surprise. It wasn't much, but Steve was usually the one that gave comfort. He didn't seem to be phased by much of anything. On the occasion that something did get to him, Tony hadn't ever had the man come to him for help in processing. "So," he said, "what's got the star spangled man with a plan shaken up?"

Steve's gaze bounced from his phone back up to Tony. He let out a small sigh as he answered, "Peter." Tony raised an eyebrow. "I was training with him and - well, this might sound odd, but he looked a bit like my mother."

If Tony had been drinking something when Steve said that, he was certain the table would have received a rather unfortunate repaint. "Uh."

"I know," Steve said, cracking a small smile. "It's weird. I never noticed until today, really, but there have been moments where…" Steve slipped his phone back into his pocket, "... I just got a feeling. For a second, I thought I was seeing something there." he paused. "I know this is highly unlikely, but there wasn't… Peggy wasn't…"

Oh dear god.

"That's a hard nope, Steve," Tony said flatly, "Richard Parker has no relation to Peggy Carter, neither does Mary. Also Peggy would have told you if she'd had a bun in the oven when you disappeared. My Godaunt wouldn't've hidden that."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I know. Just wanted to make sure."

They fell into silence. Tony occupied himself by looking over the speech he had slowly been dictating to FRIDAY, fully anticipating that PR would find something to edit in it. If not them, Pepper would certainly have this cut and moved around, and in all likelihood, she would be right. She normally was.

Tony knew he was some brand of crazy at this point. At the edge of his rocker, at least. His life certainly didn't make much sense anymore, that was for sure.

Natasha hadn't left him with any noticeable injuries from their "conversation" two weeks ago. She hadn't made a single mention of it, or "them", and generally, things had been at their usual DEFCON level. Tony was amazed by how effortlessly she pulled it off; there were moments where he completely forgot that he had passed her son in the hallway, given him a wave, and pulled the blatant falsehood out of his ass that things were keeping him busy at the moment, but he would love to work more with Peter when the time was right. There were instances where he could forget that her kid - his new super-nephew? - was in the same building as they were, fully believing that his last family member in the world was May Parker.

But it wasn't his call. Tony understood that it wasn't his call in any way shape or form, yet the image in his head, of Peter staring at Natasha's headstone with uncertain eyes hadn't left him alone. He wondered if Natasha had planned for the day she died; what would happen to her kid when that happened, if they would ever find out.

The rest of the team slowly filed in, Sam sitting next to Steve and Rhodey sitting next to him, significantly more exasperated than usual. Natasha and Wanda sat together, and Vision actually showed up. He was wearing a sweater and jeans, like a middle aged, vibranium dad.

"Glad to see you're here, Vision," Steve said.

"Yes, it is good." Vision said, "I believe the changes I have been experiencing are finally 'settling down'."

Tony shifted in his seat. He hadn't wanted to think overmuch about those 'Changes', despite witnessing and logging most of them. It was fascinating, but… okay, there was weird, and then there was _weird. _Said 'Changes' fell into the latter category.

"I hope they're positive," Steve said, offering an easy smile.

"I believe they could be tactically useful," Vision replied, "Would you like a demonstration?"

Tony already had an airtight jar with evidence from those changes. He would be good without a demonstration, if only to marginally decrease the amount his head hurt. Of course, Steve asked for one, being a good team leader and all that.

Vision stood up and held up his hand and closed his eyes, and right before his eyes, red vibranium was slowly covered by pale skin. It generated in silence, a pretty convincing veneer, Tony was honest, Almost like JARVIS had had. Steve and Sam spluttered, while Wanda stared, and Rhodey's exasperation melted. Tony let out a long breath, rubbing his brow.

He didn't want to delve into how that was happening. He had tried, of course, and lost plenty of sleep over it, but he hadn't come any closer to understanding where the hell the skin came from, or where the appetite originated, or just what was happening with the mind stone and JARVIS. He could hardly pull up a view of JARVIS at this point, which left him with the model of the intelligence in the mind stone from just before he created Ultron. A model he couldn't replicate.

"Thank you for sharing that with the class, Viz," Tony said dryly, "Can you please sit down now?"

Steve turned to him. "Tony, don't be rude."

"Yeah, well, this cat's been spritzed." Tony snapped back. His mind always moved fast, but recently it had been moving too fast into too many places he didn't like for comfort. "I also don't understand what he's doing-" he pointed at Vision, "-so don't bother asking."

"Okay, woah," Rhodey said, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Calm down, Tony." the man looked to Vision. "Thanks, Vision, that should come in handy."

"Yeah," Steve said, "You look like you have decent enough control of it."

Vision nodded to him. "Thank you, Captain. I will freely admit it is taxing," his eyes jumped to Wanda briefly, before springboarding back to Steve. "But I do indeed have it under conscious control."

"Is that all?" Steve asked, "I called us here to talk about how we'll deal with the Vulture, but we can continue on this if there's more to these… abilities."

"It does not seem to be a present danger," Vision said, "Nor is it something I feel prepared to use in the field, so yes, we can discuss the Vulture."

"Alright," Steve nodded, then looked to Natasha, "Nat, you wanna give them the rundown?"

The whole presentation lasted less than five minutes. Another middle-aged white dude turned evil, surprise surprise. The guy had a daughter and wife, but that didn't change the fact that his weapons had killed people - or that he was selling to the Nazis. The holographic projections of each of his friends sprang to life, with three forming a very clear inner circle of original founders, and then the list of them and their associates revealing who actually built the weapons.

"He never takes his car to his workshops," Nat said, "always uses public transportation, and never uses the same route from day to day, though he mainly seems to stick to these five." a map of New York, hovering above a picture of Toomes' family, had a few of its streets lit up, and another map of the subway highlighted Toomes' most commonly used routes. "Most of his actual workers don't, though. And one of them always uses the same route." Natasha gestured, and the picture of Toomes' family was replaced with a mugshot. "He's fairly isolated during the beginning of his commute, so we'll get him tomorrow and see if we can't find out where the next deal is occurring. Tony, you'll be monitoring Toomes. Build up evidence."

Tony nodded. "No problem. Fri, get on that and give me updates by the hour."

Natasha held his eyes for a fraction of a second longer, where he felt like his soul was being mercilessly combed through. Then, as if nothing was wrong, Natasha went back to debriefing the team.

Tony tried to listen, he really did, but his attention slipped through his fingers like sand. Natasha spoke, and his mind attempted to connect dots between her and her son. Bad idea? Yeah, probably. But every time he saw Peter, he wondered what the boy would think of him if this came out; if Natasha died, and Peter didn't know, Tony would have to live with looking the kid in the eye whilst he had actively hidden that knowledge from him. Furthermore, he couldn't quite shirk the thought, again that Peter was convinced that he was an orphan, when he _wasn't_. He had grieved Richard and Mary Parker, convinced the latter gave birth to him and that both of them had intentionally conceived him, when they _didn't. _

There was so much hanging over the boy, and he had _no idea_ about a lick of it. It would utterly blindside him if it got out - his trust with his aunt would take a hit, at the least, not to mention how it would reframe his entire life. His parents wouldn't be his parents anymore - not in the way they were right now, that was for sure. His aunt and uncle wouldn't be his aunt and uncle. His father was nearly fifteen years dead and his mother had specifically avoided him for about that length of time. Not to mention-

Tony rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn, scowling. So much at stake, so much was ready to collapse if pressure was applied in just the right way, and all Tony could do was watch.


	28. Chapter 28

**Nerve-wracking. Stressful. **

Two words that Peter would've been tempted to use at that moment.

Truth was, he was feeling more than a bit of cabin fever. He wanted out. Walls were confining - stifling in a way he hadn't truly appreciated until he began swinging through a significant portion of his free time. It required a lot of thought, he would admit, and the beginning had involved plenty of mishaps: falling, web-snapping, and ever-so-fun trips through billboards. There were days when his joints ached when he got home, screamed at him as he slowly retreated back to his apartment. Sound got worse those days. The people around him felt like a challenge; a big fat question of the whole concept of Spiderman. The compound, though? It had none of that.

It had a silence as pristine as its walls. Quality that flooded through the large, spotless windows, in the form of sunlight that could only do so much against the rapidly falling temperatures. All of it was compounded by the grey skies that had set up camp, unchanging and increasingly oppressive. Peter found himself stuck with a combination of exasperation at himself (he had a PS4, XBOX One, and three LEGO sets that easily surpassed $150, seriously, how could he complain?) and a biting awareness of just how deep in he was.

The avengers knew his name. They knew his identity. He could never be anonymous anymore. Spiderman would be inextricably linked with Earth's Mightiest Heroes, whether he liked it or not. It drove home to him just how _big _this was, despite the fact that he was so small in comparison to all of them. He was just a kid in Goodwill sweatpants and a hoodie; the most advanced stuff about his suit was taken from an iphone and stuff that he took from his school's chem lab (Sorry Mr. Morita). Everything here was amazing; towering in a way that was truly sunk in when Mr. Rogers (Captain America? Steve? The man _said _he wanted to be called Steve…) took him to one of their "smaller" training areas, which was easily the size of his apartment, let alone - this was just so weird. And awesome. And kinda intimidating. Okay, very intimidating.

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long breath.

This was all fine of course. It had to be fine. He had to appreciate this, right? Sure, May wouldn't allow him to put on his suit again, but it wasn't like he was serious about this, right? He was just a kid. Fourteen. No one could reasonably expect him to do any sort of fighting. If he wanted to, he could totally walk away from it all. No one would blame him. And blaming himself would've been, ah, _bad. _

The snag was that quite frankly, the prospect that he would lose the only way he had to make up for his failures was terrifying. His head wasn't a fun place these days. Sometimes. Kinda. It wasn't - it wasn't _that _bad. Mostly.

He set his head down onto the Algebra 2 homework his tutor had assigned, sighing heavily. He cast his eyes up to the window in his section of the room, studying the darkening sky as the weight of his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

Man, he just wanted to help people. Make up for his stupidity. Do - do _good_, okay? But he was also aware that it wouldn't make sense to anyone at the Compound. It would probably just worry them, and he didn't want to do that. However, by the same hand, he couldn't ignore the fact that if he never explained his view to them… if he never explained the why of it all, May would never give him permission to be Spiderman again.

He studied the sky, eyes narrowing. A shadow washed over his eyes, irritation sprouting up in his sternum. Three weeks here, going on four. Not even a month, dude, and he'd been reduced to this.

Peter could hear footsteps down the hall. Too light to be Captain America, too heavy to be May. Maybe Falcon? War Machine? Or maybe Mr. Stark?

He tensed. Peter was struck with a stab fear, inches from his heart. He hoped whoever was coming wasn't coming for him. As much as he may have wanted to work with Iron Man again, right now, he wasn't in a good place. He was too tired. Too…

God, he didn't even know anymore, but Peter couldn't get the image of the convenience store out of his head. How the fluorescent LEDs supplied a pervasive blue-white tint to everything in the store. How hungry he was. How perturbed he was by the fact that his stomach hurt a lot when he'd woken up, and how he was 98% sure he now had abs like Hercules.

Peter closed his eyes and stared vaguely at an equation that was far too close for comfort.

Peter stared at it, as if x held all the answers he needed. As if that stupid variable could answer the equation that his life had become, where there were too many letters and factors that he was losing track of. An equation that he knew was far above his level, that made him draw blank each time he looked at it.

_You can do better, Parker. Get up._

In the end, Peter didn't.

* * *

The first one of Toomes' associates was caught without any effort. A large man who wore blue overalls under a large coat, where they found goggles amongst spare pieces of wires and a notebook chock-full of notes and designs written in chicken scratch. As the man came too, Natasha was flicking through it; Phineas Mason wasn't anything special, not by public records, with not even an associates degree to his name. His grades were unremarkable, although he did go to a prestigious catholic school for his primary and secondary education, and those middling grades were B's and high C's.

Mason blinked slowly for thirty-two more seconds, blearily taking in the room until his eyes bulged. "Wh-where-"

"A tower," Natasha cut him off evenly, "But that isn't the most important thing we need to discuss right now."

"Y-you're…" Mason stuttered, "Y-you're… what did I do? I haven't-"

"Among the charges you'll be facing," Natasha interrupted again, "Are illegal sale of arms, tax fraud, and conspiracy. And those are just the state laws."

Mason balked, glancing down at the handcuffs binding his wrists. "I, uh, don't know what you're talking about. I work IT for a salvage company. Bestman Salvage, look us up."

"We have, as a matter of fact," Natasha said, raising an eyebrow, "Awful lot of money being laundered there. We had to close the operation, I'm sorry to say."

Mason gawked for a moment, before failing to recover himself. "L-look… I-I didn't - I mean, I had no other way to make money, we had no other way to make money. Times were changing. We have to change too." Mason chewed the inside of his cheek. "Had. Had. We had to change."

"Your programming teacher said you had a remarkable talent for binary," Natasha raised both eyebrows, "Real talent. Why didn't you go to college? You could've made a decent living actually working in IT rather than selling weapons that get people killed."

Mason looked at his hands again. "I - It was just supposed to be summer gig, alright? I had stuff lined up for vocational school, but life got weird. The financial crisis hit and my family needed the money, so I stayed on."

"For nearly five years," Natasha replied lightly. "Sounds to me like you got attached."

Mason clenched his fists. "A solid job was hard to find, and this one paid, alright? And then Tony Stark-" he said the name with a harder edge, "-decides to take over the cleanup of the battle and pushes us out. I'd been on that gig for five years, man! Or, uh, ma'am," Mason finally looked Natasha in the eyes, but it appeared more like he was looking past her. "I'd just been tinkering with some of the stuff we'd salvaged and…" he started to glare, "I wasn't really hurting anyone! We sold to the bad guys, who'd hurt other bad guys! Isn't that what you guys do?"

Natasha studied Mason for a few more moments, before responding flatly, "No."

"Yeah, well," Mason muttered, "Y-you won't get anything outta me. Boss's got something going on tonight that'll take us all off the radar, permanently."

Natasha feigned surprise. "What?"

"Yeah," Mason said, "New deal, a lot of money on the line. It won't matter how much time you give me."

"We'd stop you." Natasha told him stiffly, "You wouldn't get away with that."

Mason grinned. "We will, though! He's doing it himself, full suit. Those mercs-" He abruptly stopped himself, then he began to stare. "Uh..."

"You can continue," Natasha said, "You might knock a few years off your sentence if you do."

Mason's eyes retreated back to his hands. "No. I'm not telling you anything."

"You gave us enough to find Vulture," Natasha said, "But if you give us his name we might get someone to talk to the judge, put you in a better part of wherever they send you."

Mason said quietly, "I-I plead the fifth."

Natasha shrugged. "Alright, but if you feel like saving lives, the NYPD will be more than willing to listen."

"NY - NYPD?"

"Yes," Natasha answered, turning away from him, "They're outside now, as a matter of fact. Enjoy the holding cell."

"W-wait-"

Natasha shut the door to the interrogation room and gave curt nods to the officers standing outside the doors. Steve was sitting down in the waiting area of the police station, reading a book, while Sam sat to his right, with Wanda to Steve's left. They received several stares when they first turned Mason in, but most of them had settled down. Wanda paid rapt attention as Natasha sat down across from them.

"Toomes is selling to Rumlow. Tonight."

Steve gave a small huff. "Did he tell us where?"

"No, but we can track Toomes's weapons. Just look for the ones that're moving."

Steve nodded. "Right. But we still don't know the exact hour?"

Natasha shook her head. "No, we don't. But we do know that Toomes uses tech now. He said that Toomes is doing the deal 'Full suit'."

"Sounds fun," Sam said, "I always love dealing with nock-offs."

"Hasn't vulture been around longer than you?" Wanda asked, a tad bemused.

"Oh, hush," Sam said, "Let me have my moment. I still haven't forgotten about that gag gift, just an FYI.."

"It was a real gift," Wanda sniffed, "It looked enough like you."

"They literally just recolored a parachute from a GI-Joe to make my wings." Sam shook his head.

Wanda's cheeks pinked. She murmured, "Still close enough."

"You're impossible," Sam sighed.

"Do you think you can get much more out of Mason?" Steve asked Natasha, looking at her pointedly.

"Definitely," she nodded, "But we need more time to plan. We only have a few hours before Toomes makes his move."

"Yeah," Steve put his book back into his jacket. When he caught Natasha's small smirk, he shook his head. "Yeah, I'm rereading _Pride and Prejudice. _It's nice to have a classic these days."

"Me? I said nothing."

"That's hilarious, Natasha," Steve replied dryly, "Now come on, we need to get going."

Natasha flew them back to the compound, finding part of herself rejoicing over the prospect of catch Rumlow and finally putting a stop to all of this, and another sect of her mind that gave the rest of her pointed glares. She forced herself to pay attention to the present.

* * *

**Sorry for not updating for a while. Life came up. **

**I'm sad to say that the next update might take a bit. I want to plan out the rest of this fic until then, because I've mostly been keeping the plot in my head until now, and I want to finish this fic off well. Thanks for reading, especially my consistent reviewers, Blaney and MewWinx. **

**I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, because I sure had fun making it! Feel free to tell me what you think about this chapter, and the story in general, I promise, I don't bite. Thanks for reading!**


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